


Winds of Change

by flowerfan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Post CACW, Post Captain America Civil War, Recovery, Romance, Sexytimes, unlikely location for HYDRA base
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: Bucky’s still got some healing to do after the doctors in Wakanda rouse him from sleep and make sure there are no more deadly triggers lurking in his brain.  He decides it should happen where he can have some peace and quiet, as well as a little distance from Steve’s overwhelming presence.  When he sees an ad for a “Winter Caretaker” he takes the job, but it turns out to be not so peaceful after all.Or, how Bucky realized that while he still needs to heal, it wouldn’t be such a bad thing for him and Steve to do it together.





	1. Chapter 1

  


“You may stay here in Wakanda as my guest for as long as you like,” T’Challa says, once the doctors have roused Bucky from sleep and made sure there are no more deadly triggers lurking in his brain, “but I did promise Steve Rogers that I would keep him apprised of your status.” The “it’s only fair” is left unsaid, but Bucky hears it anyway.

“Let me tell him,” Bucky replies. Now, several hours later, he is in his room, staring at the computer screen, trying to figure out what to say.

It has been two weeks since he came out of cryo, two weeks full of poking and prodding both mental and physical, two weeks when the thought of Steve has never been far from his mind. T’Challa has gone along with Bucky’s wish that he be allowed to get through this process without anyone else knowing that he was awake. He wanted to make sure it would work, first; that he would no longer be able to be used as a weapon against his will. Now that part of him, at least, has been healed. He can’t put this off any longer. 

Bucky opens up a new email, too chicken to call Steve on the phone like a grown-up. 

“Dear Steve,” he begins, the vibranium fingers of his new left hand clicking on the keys as he goes.

_It’s me. I’m okay, according to the docs here. T’Challa can fill you in. I’ve given him permission to give you the details, if you want them._

_I need to thank you for everything you did for me. I hear things are better between you and the Avengers, which is good. I didn’t mean to come between you and your friends._

_I know you are going to want to see me, but maybe wait a while? I need some time to-_

Bucky gets stuck on this part. He doesn’t know what excuse to give Steve for why he can’t see him right now. Part of him would love to let Steve drop everything and come get him, as he knows full well he’d do. He thinks about the way Steve smiles at him. How he claps Bucky on the back, eyes full of affection. It would be so easy to let Steve shepherd him around, take care of him through whatever confusion is still haunting his abused mind. But the thought doesn’t sit right with him. 

It’s not only that he thinks he isn’t worth Steve’s time, although there’s some of that in the mix. It’s something he can’t really put his finger on. Whatever it is, he knows he doesn’t want to be swept up into Steve’s orbit, not right now. He just wants some peace and quiet.

This is the first time he’s woken from cryo without pain, without more than a momentary twinge of fear. Without someone giving him orders. He’s not sure what he wants, but he wants to be the one to figure it out.

He returns to the email, deletes a few words, and finishes writing. He reads over the end of the message, changes the closing a few times (he finally settles on “yours always, Bucky”) and then, his stomach clenching, hits send.

There’s a shower in his suite nicer than any he’s ever had at his disposal before, so he shuts himself in there, using every ridiculous bath product in the room. He tells himself not to expect an immediate reply back from Steve, he’s probably asleep or out on a mission, or busy with his friends. And even if Steve reads his email right away, he might be too annoyed to write back. Or, worse, he might tell Bucky to go fuck himself.

Bucky drags out his shower for as long as he can, cleaning every nook and cranny. He dries himself carefully, slathering lotion on his body, even the tender skin where his metal arm attaches to his shoulder. Leaving the bathroom he pulls on some of the white lounge pants everyone seems to wear for comfort here, and gets into bed. Filled with trepidation, he opens the laptop and checks his email.

There are two messages, both from Steve.

The first is heartbreakingly short:

_Dear Bucky,_

_I understand._

_Steve_

The next message was sent fifteen minutes later, and Bucky sighs with relief as he reads it.

_Dear Bucky,_

_I can be an ass sometimes, but you know that already. Natasha told me that if I didn’t send you a better message immediately she was going to beat the crap out of me, and she wasn’t kidding (she says hi, by the way)._

_I’m so very grateful that you are alive. I can’t pretend not to be disappointed that you won’t let me come see you, but that’s just selfish of me. When I stop to think about how lucky I am that you are out there somewhere in the world, well, that will have to be good enough for now. (You do want to see me again at some point, just not right this minute, right?)_

_I have so many ideas, so many things I’d like to do with you. But they can wait._

_Please keep in touch. I miss you, but I swear I’ll respect your wishes no matter what they are._

_Yours always,_

_Steve_

Bucky reads over the message a few times, a lump forming in his throat. Steve is so sweet. It’s not as if he really believed Steve would shut him out. He trusts Steve more than anyone, but then again he has little idea what’s been going on in Steve’s life since he’s been in cryo.

He hates that he made Steve feel sad, even a little bit. Logically he knew it would happen, although it’s hard for Bucky to fathom why he means so much to Steve after everything Bucky did as the Winter Soldier. But Steve’s question about whether he ever wants to see him again is honest, and he’s glad he asked it, even if it stings. 

He hadn’t planned on getting into a back and forth conversation with Steve, but there’s no doubt in his mind about the answer to his question.

_Steve,_

_Punk. Of course I want to see you again. Now go off and save the world and let a fella get some sleep._

_Bucky_

He closes the laptop and sets it off to the side of his ridiculously big bed. Bucky knows Steve will respond, probably with a lighthearted joke, and he smiles in anticipation. He’ll save it for the morning, something to look forward to, before he starts on the gargantuan task of trying to decide what to do with his mess of a life.

*********  
It takes Bucky almost two months to make plans. Wakanda is pleasant enough, but he doesn’t want to stay here permanently. For one, although T’Challa is unerringly polite and generous, he’s putting Bucky up out of some good Samaritan sense of obligation, not due to any actual knowledge of Bucky himself. And Bucky’s not always comfortable with how people look at him, knowing his history.

Mostly, he wants to go home. 

He realizes this as he hikes one morning through the rainforest. There’s a clearing leading up to a little waterfall, and he stops and crouches down, splashing water on his face. It’s beautiful here, no question. People probably pay bundles of money to travel to places like this. But it doesn’t feel real. 

Later that night, he starts looking for a job. Nothing fancy, nothing spooky. Nothing that requires him to speak any language other than the one he spoke as a kid. 

Bucky knows he could return to government work – a guy named Phil Coulson offered him a spot in intelligence in whatever group has now taken SHIELD’s place – but he’s not really interested in that kind of thing right now. He’s free to do whatever he wants, and he can do it legally, too, thanks to a presidential pardon, a U.S. passport with his honest to god birthdate on it, and a bank account with seventy-something years of military back pay, which is quite a stack of cash.

(He tries not to think too hard about all the effort Steve and his friends went to while he was under, getting the mechanics of his life in order for him, not knowing when he’d wake up – or if he’d wake up. Yet another good deed he can’t repay.)

Sam Wilson had sent him some links to resources for veterans, and it’s one of those that leads him to the job opening. It’s titled “Winter Caretaker,” and he has to laugh at the fitting irony of it. 

_Winter caretaker needed for Martha’s Vineyard home. Must be willing to do routine maintenance, snow removal, water plants and care for three (very shy) cats. Car for local use, moped and bicycle provided._

It doesn’t pay much, but then Bucky really isn’t in this for the money. He does some quick research, confirming that Martha’s Vineyard is an island off the south coast of Massachusetts. It’s a popular summer destination, but its off-season population drops dramatically. Without overthinking it, he emails the owner.

Within a few days, it’s settled. Nora, the owner of the house, is an artist who seems to be a little paranoid about leaving her home unsupervised while she travels, and keeps throwing out more reasons why having someone stay there is such a good idea. Bucky is quick to agree with her, as he knows from way too much experience how easily an uninhabited building can be used for something unsavory, although he has his doubts about whether this particular location (“it’s kind of rural, actually,” Nora writes, “the island is bigger than people realize, it can take half an hour to drive from one end to the other”) is going to be in demand for criminal activity.

After Nora assures herself that Bucky is the right person for the job (“you won’t get scared out there by yourself, will you?” is Bucky’s favorite question so far) they plan to meet at the house in two weeks, and it’s done. He may not know where his life is going, but three (“really, they’re ridiculously shy”) cats are counting on him, so off he goes.

**********  
Bucky may be many things, but he’s not stupid, and he knows full well that the fact that he is moving back to the U.S. is probably of interest to Steve. Except for a brief email exchange a few weeks ago which sounded disturbingly like something Bucky would have written to his old Aunt Ethel (“Hi Steve – just wanted to let you know I’m still doing fine. T’challa’s docs have tinkered with my arm a bit, it’s quieter now. Hope you are well. Yours always, Bucky.”) he hasn’t communicated with Steve. It would defeat the purpose, he thinks, although he’s not still clear on what the purpose is.

He misses Steve, though. It’s an ache that’s always there in his chest, and as he sits in his appointed suite, duffel packed with his few belongings, he lets himself feel it. He’s flying to Boston tomorrow (by way of Berlin, which makes him squirm with discomfort), then taking a bus to Woods Hole to catch the ferry to the island. It would be the easiest thing in the world to give Steve his flight information and meet up with him for a few hours, or even a few days. 

But that’s not the plan, and for better or worse, he’s going to stick to the plan. 

He starts typing out an email, biting his lip in concentration. Because not hiding, telling the truth when it matters, is also part of the plan, so he’s got to walk this middle ground, and it isn’t getting any easier.

_Steve –_

_I’m coming back to the states. Please thank Sam for sending me all that info about jobs (and tell me honestly, is he pissed about me breaking his wings? Because I still feel terrible). I’ll keep you posted._

_Yours always, Bucky_

The response comes after he has gotten into bed, but he’s not anywhere near asleep.

_Dear Bucky –_

_I’m really glad to hear you’re coming back, although I imagine T’Challa will miss your sparkling wit._

You ass, Bucky thinks, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

_Don’t worry about Sam. As soon as we all kissed and made up Tony built him a brand new set of wings, even better than the old ones. It helped make up for the fact that Tony never got a chance to examine your arm – he’s still convinced that the Russians had help, that there’s no way they could have pulled off something that impressive with their “pathetic lack of technology.” Don’t get me started on how he feels about you having a Wakandan engineered one now. He keeps trying to weasel an invitation from T’Challa but I guess the King has more important things on his mind than a play date with Tony Stark._

_But seriously, Buck, thanks for telling me where you’ll be (although don’t think I didn’t notice that you actually didn’t give me much of a clue – it’s a mighty big country, Bucky). I’d love to see you, pal. Hopefully you know that. And if you ever need anything, anything at all, just call - wherever you are, I’ll be there (have you listened to James Taylor, or Carole King? Coulson put them on my list, they’re great. Call me a sap, if you want – everyone else does)._

_Yours always,_

_Steve_

It doesn’t make Bucky as uncomfortable as he would have thought to know that Steve and his friends are talking about him. He’d actually gotten a long and rambling message from Tony, declaring a “permanent truce” and attaching a file of research on how his father may or may not have been involved with a plan to create more super soldiers. “I still can’t tell,” Tony’s message concluded, “what side my dad was on. But he was in control of his own mind. You weren’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fully-written story of about 45k, and I'll be posting 2-3x times a week. If you are enjoying it and looking forward to more, please let me know!
> 
> Many thanks to my wonderful and ever-patient beta, perry_avenue.
> 
> And finally, I had to repost this, and in so doing, lost some lovely comments and kudos on chapter one. I apologize to those commenters - please forgive me and keep reading!! To try to repair the damage, I'm posting chapter 2 early.


	2. Chapter 2

The commercial plane flight is tedious, but in a familiar way that Bucky doesn’t want to examine too closely (packed in tight, strangers all around, no escape route), and the long bus ride isn’t much better (although at least he could jump out if push came to shove).

Bucky’s not sure how he feels about the ferry. The one he’s on is large but mostly empty, and he finds a seat near a window and watches the boat pull away from the dock. A plaque informs him that the ship was built as a World War II landing craft and participated in the D-Day invasion at Normandy in 1944, receiving one battle star for service. He hadn’t realized ships received stars. He goes up on deck (it’s cold, but it doesn’t bother him much) and walks up to the bow, looking over the side at the waves. He gives the railing a pat. _Thanks for your service,_ he thinks to himself, shaking his head.

In just over an hour the ferry arrives at the island. Nora had said he wouldn’t be able to miss her, and she’s right – there’s hardly anyone waiting for the ferry, and there’s only one willowy white-haired lady standing next to an old green station wagon with a “Welcome to the Vineyard” sign in her hands.

It doesn’t take long to leave Vineyard Haven, the town where the ferry docked, and soon they are driving down nondescript roads. It could be anywhere – until they turn down a side road and the ocean comes into view.

The sprawling gray house is high on a cliff, surrounded by more open land than Bucky expected. And it’s huge.

“Damn,” Bucky mutters, and Nora looks at him with concern.

“It is too big? The housecleaner will come every week, you don’t have to clean it yourself. And there’s a snowblower… we don’t get much snow anyway, usually, although every time I say that we get a blizzard, so I really shouldn’t be saying anything.”

Bucky interrupts her ramble with his most charming smile. “No, it’s fine, I was just admiring it.”

Nora shows him around the place, and gives him a notebook full of information that he’s pretty sure he won’t need (if he can’t figure out how to fix a leaky toilet with whatever he can find on the internet, he has no business taking this job). 

There’s a whole chart of instructions about her plants, which are mostly in a sort of glassed-in porch towards the back of the house. He trails after her as she goes looking for the cats, finally finding one of them on top of a tall bookshelf in the library (of course a house like this has a library, he’s surprised it doesn’t have a bowling alley and a built-in swimming pool in the basement).

“This is Mittens,” Nora says. He looks closely at the cat, Nora having coaxed it off the bookshelf and into her arms. It’s all black, not a spot of white fur anywhere. “I know she doesn’t have any mittens.” Nora shrugs and pets a black paw. “But it’s her name.”

They can’t find the other two, but Nora doesn’t seem bothered by this. “Sometimes I don’t see them for days. But the food keeps disappearing, so I know they’re still around.” She explains how she doesn’t have an alarm system, or any home security at all, since she knows the cats would set it off, and she likes them to be able to go in and out through the cat door at will.

Bucky thinks that someone with a house that clearly is worth millions might want to invest in a more subtle security system than one which would get set off by a cat, but what the hell, it’s not his house. And if she had better security, he’d be out of a job – because it becomes clear that his main purpose is mostly to populate the empty space, not perform any heavy lifting.

Suddenly Nora’s phone pings, and she’s off. Apparently they have Uber here. Although Bucky insists he could have driven her to the ferry, Nora just shakes her head. “Email or text me if you have any questions – enjoy yourself!”

Bucky locks the front door behind her, and then lets out a long breath. Finally, it’s quiet.

He goes into the large living room, passing by the soft white couches, and slides open the glass door to the balcony which looks out over the water. Still quiet, just the sound of the wind and, from further away, waves crashing against the shore. He thinks he’s going to like it here.

That night Bucky makes a fire in the fireplace, settles down on one of the couches, and reads through the materials Nora left. By his calculations, it will take about an hour every day, maybe two, to fulfill his maintenance duties. Longer if it snows, and a quick internet search tells him that while the island is warmer than the mainland, it does in fact get plenty of snow. He goes onto Amazon and orders a pair of winter boots – proper tools for the job, and so on.

A movement catches his eye and he almost jumps off the couch, before he realizes it’s the cat from the library, Mittens. She is sidling up to him as if she’s as jumpy as he is, which is probably the truth. He settles in, his laptop on his lap, and reads through some articles about what’s open on the island in the wintertime. Eventually the cat leaps up on the couch, makes herself comfortable at his side, and starts to purr.

Bucky closes his eyes and sighs contentedly. He’s definitely going to like it here.

**********

October turns into November, and Bucky establishes a routine. In the mornings he works out (there’s a pretty well-equipped exercise room), waters the plants, and deals with the cats’ food and litter. After lunch, he walks around the property, making sure nothing is amiss (nothing ever is), and then settles in the living room or the library, reading, surfing the web, or watching television.

Some days he adds an outing to his afternoons, going for a long walk or run, or riding the moped around the island to explore. Bucky likes the moped better than the station wagon; although only incrementally less unhip, he enjoys the feel of the wind in his hair, chilly though it is. The smell of the salt air and the crunch of the leaves are much more apparent, too. He grins to himself when he realizes he’s taking the moped out not because he hasn’t sufficiently mapped out each little town, but because it’s just fun. 

He can have fun, now, apparently. It’s a good thing.

Except for weekly trips to the grocery store, he hasn’t had much interaction with other people. It’s become clear that plenty of people are still here, despite the fact that it’s off-season – he sees them on the road, and in the little towns, going in and out of shops with their hats pulled tight over their ears. Most of the restaurants are closed, but there are still some open to cater to the year-round residents.

There’s a bar in Oak Bluffs that Bucky has ridden past a number of times, right off the main road. The dumb stuff they write on their sidewalk sign make him groan. Today it says “Thursday night special – same prices, just special (and free wings).” He wonders if their regular marketing guy takes the winter off.

Stupid sign or not, it gets him thinking, and the following Thursday he dresses a little more carefully (clean black fleece under his leather jacket, clean t-shirt, the jeans without the hole in the knee) and heads into Oak Bluffs in the evening. He walks up and down the street a few times, goes around the back of the bar to check the exit, observes the patrons coming and going from a bench a little ways down the road, and then makes up his mind. Tonight, he’s having wings for dinner.

(Bucky knows that going out for dinner in a touristy bar probably does not require the level of surveillance he is conducting, but he’s not going to get down on himself for it, either. He’s not hurting anyone, and it sure as shit will make him feel better.)

He squares his shoulders and walks inside. It’s warm, smells like good food, and music is playing just loud enough to glide over the noise of the diners.

“Welcome to Skipper’s,” a bored looking teenager says, flipping her hair aside to reveal a thoroughly pierced ear. “Table or bar?”

“Bar’s fine,” Bucky says, his voice cracking a little from disuse. Get a grip, he thinks to himself, as the girl motions vaguely towards the bar.

But things smooth out from there. The bartender, who introduces himself as Henry, doesn’t push him to engage in conversation, just gets him his beer, a hamburger, and a side of wings calmly and efficiently. The restaurant is barely half-full, but everyone seems to be having a good time, and Bucky relaxes and orders a second beer. It doesn’t do much for him, super-soldier metabolism and all, but the ritual is comforting, and frankly beer tastes a lot better now than it did back in the 40’s. 

He makes some comment about the beer to Henry (not, obviously, about beer seventy years ago), who nods and hands him a menu. “We’ve got twelve on tap, and forty or so in the cooler. I can make a suggestion, if you want. A lot of people like Whale’s Tale, from Cisco Brewers in Nantucket.”

Bucky tries one, and Henry’s right – it’s good. 

That night Bucky gives the cats an extra treat (he feeds Mittens on his lap; the other two are nowhere in sight, so he puts a few treats in their food dish) so they can share in the pleasant feeling that has settled over him. He successfully engaged in a social situation like a totally normal person without freaking the hell out. And more than that, he did something just because he wanted to. It’s not as if he hasn’t been engaging in the necessary activities to cope with life in general over the past few months, and even before that, in Bucharest – but things are different now. It’s his new life, as non-criminal, not-on-the-run Bucky Barnes, and he can fill it with bars and hot wings and beer, if he wants to. He can do more than just what he needs to do to survive. 

**********

Mittens interrupts his sleep one morning with a nudge to his chin and a questioning “mmrrrt?” Bucky blinks one eye open, disoriented for a moment as he always is when he wakes up. Then he realizes that he went to sleep without closing his bedroom door, a breach in his personal security protocol that gives him the shivers.

He and the cats have had an ongoing battle about this over the past week. At first they hadn’t seemed interested in coming into Bucky’s room, content to do their hidey-cat thing on their own every night. But then Mittens and the orange striped one (named Miss Kitty Fantastico, for some curious reason, but Bucky just calls her Miss Kitty) started sneaking in when he wasn’t looking, and resisted being tossed out when he was ready to turn in.

Now one or the other of them (or both? How he is supposed to tell?) have taken to meowing outside his closed door, and scratching on it, until he opens it and yells at them, which is frankly irritating. He honestly can’t remember if he gave in last night and left the door open on purpose, or if Mittens managed to open it herself (seems unlikely, but she’s a very persistent cat when she sets her mind to it).

In any case, it’s not even six a.m., and Mittens is happily purring up a storm and kneading her paws over his stomach. Bucky reaches down and pets her ears, and she pushes back into his hand, her fur soft against his fingers. It’s not the worst way to wake up.

Bucky has been back to Skipper’s three times since the Thursday he got hot wings, and he hasn’t been disappointed yet. He is beginning to suspect that they are getting the slogans for their bar signs on the internet, as they keep changing (“Soup of the Day: Whiskey” is one of his favorites, although he also appreciates “Come in and try the worst rum & coke that guy on Yelp ever had in his life.”)

Tonight the sign reads “Beauty is in the eye of the beer holder” and Bucky shakes his head. It’s barely funny. But it’s not going to stop him from going inside. 

He sits down at the end of the bar, where he can easily see most of the room, and nods to Henry. They have a system going – Henry suggests a new beer each night, and Bucky drinks it. Works for everyone. This time he orders a hamburger with pineapple (it sounds like it wouldn’t taste good, but it does), and spicy fries. 

He’s barely placed his order when he notices a man seated towards the back of the restaurant looking decidedly out of place in a baseball cap and sunglasses. It only takes a slight shift of the man’s shoulders for Bucky to recognize him, and he’s out of his seat before he even fully realizes what he’s doing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky hisses, metal hand slamming harder than he intended on the table.

Steve looks up at him, eyes hidden behind the sunglasses, and then grabs Bucky by the arm and tugs him down into the chair next to him. “Bucky?”

“Is that a test?” Bucky spits out. “What happened to respecting my wishes?”

But Steve is shaking his head, cursing under his breath, and Bucky is very confused. “No, fuck, no, I did, I swear I did, mean I do, this isn’t-”

“Isn’t what, Steve?”

“Lower your voice, please,” Steve pleads, taking off the sunglasses and glaring at him. “I’m supposed to be under cover!”

“What? Steve, what are you talking about?”

“I’m not here for you – I’m working a case. Don’t keep saying my name.”

The adrenaline is seeping out of him, and Bucky pulls in a long breath.

“You’re not watching me.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Well, I am now. But no. I didn’t even know you were here.”

Bucky rests his forehead on the table, unable to meet Steve’s gaze. “Fuck.”

“It’s all right.” He hears Steve taking a few deep breaths. “I’d have been mad, too.” 

The waitress comes over with a soda for Steve (of course he doesn’t even order a beer) and mildly asks if Bucky wants his food brought over from the bar.

Bucky looks up at Steve’s hopeful face, imagines sitting here shooting the shit with Steve while he munches on a hamburger and fries, and suddenly it’s too much. “No. No, I’ve got to go.” 

He avoids looking at Steve while he pulls cash out of his wallet. He can well imagine the disappointed look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispers as Bucky stands up. “I didn’t mean-”

But Bucky doesn’t hear the rest of the apology – he’s already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

After seeing Steve at the bar, the rest of Bucky’s night passes in a blur of going through the motions – drive back to the house, check the perimeter, lock the doors, brush teeth, get into bed – and trying not to think. There’s an onslaught of emotions flooding him - shock, anxiety, and the resurgence of that deep ache when he sees Steve – and it’s just too much, so he shuts it out. 

It isn’t until the next morning, when he wakes up with Mittens marching her paws on his bladder, that the fog clears. 

Steve Rogers is here, on his safe, quiet little island. How in the seven hells did that happen?

Bucky doesn’t check his email, doesn’t even put his phone in his pocket, just goes about his routine. All three cats show up when he refills their food bowls, even the little gray one with the sweet face who almost never comes out from hiding, but he can’t spare much of his attention on them this morning.

He pushes himself a little harder with the weights, working up a sweat and then some, focusing on the way he can control his body’s reaction to his surroundings. He does not think about what it would be like to work out with Steve, to watch the muscles in his arms flex, to go for a run together, chatting companionably as they move through the cold air. 

He takes an extra long shower.

He knows he has to think about what Steve being here means; knows he should just talk to him and find out what’s going on. It doesn’t have to demand any change in his routine, really – Steve can go about his Avengers business, and Bucky can continue to feed the cats and water the plants, even if he has to stay away from Skipper’s for a while. 

That was the plan, Bucky thinks to himself, not to see Steve yet. But another part of his brain reminds him quite sharply that he never intended to cut himself off from Steve forever. There has to be a time when he’s ready. Maybe it’s now?

Bucky’s just finishing his grilled cheese and thinking about whether he might be bold enough to seek out a bar in a different town to take the place of Skipper’s when the doorbell rings.

So far, the only people that have rung the doorbell are Maritza, who comes to clean the house once a week, and the UPS guy, with Bucky’s Amazon packages. Maritza isn’t due to come today, and he hasn’t ordered anything online lately. Chances are, it’s Steve.

Bucky runs his fingers through his long hair and considers his options. He could do nothing, relying on Steve’s honorable nature to get the hint and leave him alone. He could go to the door and tell Steve to go away. Or he could let him in.

Bucky is rehearsing what he might say through the door when he hears a voice, and it’s not the one he expected.

“Barnes? I know you’re standing there. It’s cold as shit out here, let me in.”

Natasha. Bucky frowns and opens the door. This might be harder than he expected. He’s never actually had a one-on-one conversation with her, but he knows her from Steve’s descriptions, and he doesn’t imagine she’s here to bake cookies.

Natasha breezes in, takes a quick look around the place, and then fixes him with a serious look. “We need to talk.”

Bucky doesn’t necessarily agree, but he figures he needs more information to be sure. He shrugs and follows her as she waltzes through the entryway into the kitchen. “Want something to drink? I’ve got orange juice, milk, and water.”

Natasha looks at him curiously. “Thanks, but I’m good.” She sits on a stool at the island and motions for him to sit as well. He does.

“You seem well,” she says carefully. 

“I am.” More or less.

She nods. “House-sitting gig?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him. “You really think I didn’t look into it, once Steve told me you were here? It’s bad enough we didn’t know you were on the island.”

“Steve really didn’t know I was here,” Bucky says, watching Natasha closely. He knows she’s got skills, but she doesn’t seem like she’s lying.

“Nope. Not a clue.” Natasha rolls her eyes as though this isn’t the first time she’s said this about Steve.

Something inside him relaxes a little, even here with Natasha’s eyes shooting daggers at him. Steve hadn’t been spying on him, or waiting to ambush him. It really was just a coincidence.

“He didn’t even tell us you were back in the states, at least not until he came home from the bar last night.” She taps her fingers on the granite countertop. Her nails are polished a classy dark red. “You totally ruined his evening’s work, by the way.”

Bucky snorts. “Hardly my fault.”

“No, it’s not. But still.”

Bucky stands up. Something about the tone of the conversation is changing for the worse, and it’s not pleasant. “But still – what?”

Natasha presses her lips together. “He fought a war for you – and I’m not talking about the one back in ancient times. You couldn’t have spent an afternoon playing backgammon with him or something, in between your critical plant watering duties?”

She’s mad at him because he wouldn’t see Steve. But she’s not just mad, there’s something else there, he just can’t figure out what it is. 

“Steve understands why I didn’t want to see him.”

The bitter huff that escapes her lips makes Bucky feel a little like an idiot. “Understands? What, exactly, do you mean when you say that?”

Bucky just stares at her, unable to answer.

“What he _understands,_ oh comrade of mine, is that you don’t care very much about him. Not enough to risk your precious recovery, or, god forbid, let him be a part of it. You can chat with T’Challa, exchange war stories with Tony, hell, even make friends with strangers in tacky tourist bars, but you can’t spare a few minutes for your supposed best friend.”

Bucky feels cold, and he grips the edge of the counter with his metal hand. “That’s… that’s not true.”

“Name me one thing that would let Steve know that.”

“I emailed him.”

“How many times – two? Three?”

“He was fine with it, he said so.”

“During your long heart to heart talks on the phone?” Natasha stood up and began pacing the room. “Wait, I forgot, you never did talk on the phone, did you? Not even once. Apparently you didn’t think that maybe he’d like to hear your voice, make sure you were really okay.”

Bucky’s head is beginning to spin, and it just gets worse as Natasha goes on.

“As if it wasn’t bad enough dealing with heartbroken, pining Steve all these months, now he feels even more horrible, like he betrayed you again just by doing his job, when it wasn’t his fault in the slightest. Didn’t sleep at all last night, just kept pacing around and muttering about how he promised to respect your wishes and then went back on his word.”

“I thought he was following me. I didn’t… I didn’t know he didn’t know I was here…”

“Yeah, yeah, lot of good that’s doing now.”

Bucky feels like he’s about to come apart, and he doesn’t want Natasha here when he does. He’s not sure it would be safe for either of them. “I think you should leave,” he stutters out, his voice echoing in his ears.

“I agree.” Natasha stalks off towards the front door, then spins back around to face him. “You don’t have the right to keep hurting him. It’s just mean. And you’re not only taking away the one person Steve thought he could always rely on – you’re making him think he never had you in the first place. You’re not the Bucky Barnes Steve keeps telling me about – you’re just a selfish asshole.”

When Natasha slams the door shut behind her, Bucky sinks to the floor, curls up around himself, and sobs.

That night, Bucky wakes with a start, and he’s got his gun in his hand before he knows where he is. His face is wet and he can’t shake the feeling of dread from his nightmare. It’s one he’s never had before: T’Challa wakes him from cryo only to inform him that Steve has sacrificed himself on a mission, some combination of throwing himself on a grenade and driving a plane into the Atlantic, things that would seem ridiculous and improbable if only Steve hadn’t actually done them before. But in the dream, Steve did some crazy thing again, one that he didn’t need to do, that he could have avoided just like crashing the plane - and didn’t survive it.

Bucky drops his gun and wraps his arms around his stomach, forcing down the urge to vomit. He scrabbles for his phone, his hands shaking as he types out a text.

_Steve – you okay?_

He doesn’t let himself think about how selfish this is, just like Natasha said, bothering Steve in the middle of the night just because Bucky finally needs to hear from him. He can’t help it. He needs him.

Steve’s response comes quickly.

_I’m fine, Bucky. What’s up?_

_Nightmare._ He pauses, knowing this is an entirely insufficient amount of sharing. _I’m so sorry about the other night, Steve. So fucking sorry._

There’s a pause, and then Steve replies, predictably,

_It’s okay, Buck._

_It’s not. Natasha was here._ The memory of her words washes over him again, and he flops down, burying his head in his pillow. But he looks up when he hears his phone ping again.

_Natasha’s protective of me. Whatever she said, it’s probably not as bad as she made it out to be._

Bucky’s heart is pounding in his chest, and he swallows hard as a flare of jealously sparks through him. It shouldn’t be Natasha being protective of Steve, it should be Bucky. But he’s been hiding out during his “precious recovery” as she so sweetly called it, leaving Steve to fend for himself. 

He hears his mother’s voice, somehow, chiding him gently. “You made your bed, now you have to lie in it.” Guess the ability to make your own choices also extends to making bad ones.

_Can I call you?_ Bucky almost holds his breath, waiting for Steve’s response.

_Of course, Bucky. Anytime._

_Now?_

_Sure._

Steve sounds hesitant as he answers the phone, and Bucky’s stomach clenches again. He did this. Unlike so many things that happened to him over the past seventy-plus years, he made this mess, and it’s up to him to fix it.

“Steve, I’m so sorry about what I said at the bar. I didn’t realize you didn’t know I was here.”

“I know, Bucky, it’s okay.”

“And…” he interrupts himself with a jawbreaking yawn, and he hears Steve laugh gently.

“Really, Bucky, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’m fine.”

“Natasha doesn’t seem to think so.”

There’s a beat, and when Steve responds, his voice is firm. “I’d rather our relationship be based on how we treat each other, not how other people see it.”

Oh. “People don’t trust me.” That hurts, although it isn’t undeserved, given his history as the Winter Soldier. Frankly he should be glad Natasha didn’t just shoot him and be done with it.

“They don’t know you, Bucky. I do. We’re good, don’t worry.” Steve sighs. “Can we maybe… can we just talk about normal stuff?”

Bucky almost smiles at this, a little hint of younger Steve rising in his memory. “’Course we can.” He looks around, searching for a topic of conversation that isn’t quite so fraught, and his eyes land on Mittens, curled up at the bottom of his bed. She is apparently unfazed by the nightmare/midnight reconciliation drama. “Did you know cats do this weird thing where they march on you?”

They talk about the cats for a while, and the next time Bucky yawns, it’s matched by Steve.

Steve lets out another soft laugh. “I should really get to sleep, Bucky. But – thank you.”

“For what?”

“For talking to me.”

It all comes rushing back, Natasha’s accusation that he doesn’t care enough about Steve to bother with him, and it’s all he can do to choke out a response. “I like talking to you. I want to talk to you. It’s not like it’s a hardship or anything.”

There’s no reply, and Bucky rushes to fill the silence. “We can do it again, okay? It’s doesn’t have to just be tonight.”

“That’s not what you wanted.”

Bucky shakes his head, even as he realizes Steve can’t see him. “I know, but… I was wrong. Or, at least, I’m wrong now. I mean-”

Steve takes pity on him, chuckling to himself. “Can I call you tomorrow, Buck?”

“Yes,” he says with relief. “Please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marvel fans, if you enjoyed this, stop by on tumblr, say hi and [re-blog ](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/156758338192/winds-of-change-ch-3)!


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky sleeps like a log for the rest of the night, waking up long past his normally appointed time. When he blinks an eye open, both Mittens and Miss Kitty are staring at him, settled in matching cat loaf positions on the bed, their front feet neatly tucked under their chests. 

“Keeping an eye on me?” he mutters, reaching out to scritch Mittens under the chin. “Or just hungry?”

He pads down to the kitchen to refill their bowls, and then leans heavily against the counter, replaying the events of the night before. To his surprise, he’s not freaking out about it anymore. Talking to Steve wasn’t just fine, in the sense that it didn’t make anything worse; it was objectively positive.

Would talking to Steve all along have made these past few months better? Did his whole stupid plan really just wind up interfering with his precious recovery? (And will he forever refer to it in his mind as his _“precious recovery,”_ in italics and with maximum irony, thanks to one Natasha Romanov?)

Bucky finishes his daily chores and decides to go for a run. Outside on the front porch he nearly trips over a package, addressed only to “Barnes” and with no return address. It’s a six-pack of some fancy craft beer, with a handwritten note that says “I’m a selfish asshole too. Sorry. Natasha.”

Bucky smirks, puts the beer into the refrigerator and then heads back outside. He doesn’t see any evidence of Natasha’s visits, either yesterday or today, but that’s not particularly surprising. She could still be hiding out somewhere watching him, and he’d probably only have about a fifty-fifty chance of spotting her. He looks around, gives a nod and a salute to the general vicinity of the front yard, and then jogs off down the cliff top path.

He’s halfway through his route, turning to head back towards the house, when he sees a flash of fiery red hair and then Natasha is matching his stride alongside him. She’s dressed in appropriate gear, including running shoes and a black zippered jacket with hot pink trim, and Bucky wonders how the hell she knew he’d go running this morning.

They run along in silence for a few minutes. Bucky’s not sure what the appropriate protocol is for this, so he just waits. He figures she’ll fill him in eventually.

Finally she speaks up. “Arm doesn’t weigh you down much?”

He stares at her in mock offense. “Really? That’s your opener?”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m curious.”

“It’s lighter than it was – vibranium. And obviously it didn’t get in my way before, either.”

“You must have mad core strength.”

And no one much cared about how much it hurt, Bucky thought, but he pushes that memory away for now. “Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of bad at apologies?”

“I brought beer,” she says with a shrug. “And I meant what I said. Just maybe said it the wrong way.”

Whatever. Bucky speeds up, but Natasha does too, and they’re almost back at the house so it’s not as if he can lose her.

When they get to the front porch, Natasha doubles over, hands on her knees, and pants. “Dick move, Barnes.”

“I didn’t ask you to come running with me.”

She straightens up, still breathing hard. “I needed to talk to you.”

“I get it – don’t hurt Steve, he’s America’s special snowflake, you’ll kill me with my own arm, blah blah blah.”

Natasha’s eyes light up. “ _Could_ your own arm kill you? Did T’Challa check for booby traps? Maybe we should have Tony-”

“It’s an entirely new arm. No remote access – can’t be hacked.”

She looks only fractionally less interested. “But were there booby traps in the old one?”

“No.” He sighs. “Could we maybe take this inside? I need a drink.”

“See? Beer was a good idea.”

“It’s ten o’clock in the morning.”

A few minutes later, Natasha’s sitting at his kitchen island peeling a clementine, while Bucky drinks down a second glass of water. 

“So, I’m here because we want your help.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Define ‘we.’”

“Coulson approved it.”

“Does Steve know?”

“What do you think?”

“I think if Steve wanted my help, he’d be here talking to me, not you.”

She doesn’t deny it. Bucky’s not sure he wants to know why Steve isn’t involved, whether it’s because he thinks Bucky isn’t ready, or is trying not to pressure him. Or some other even more painful reason.

Natasha stands up and walks around the room, checking sightlines out the windows. “I wanted to run it by you first. See what you thought.”

Still a non-answer. Natasha’s interesting, Bucky thinks. Brash and confident, and clearly badass in a fight, but still human inside. He knows a little about her history with the Russians, that she’s no stranger to being used. He’s sure she knows his entire history as well, yet she’s just treating him like a person. Like a potential teammate. 

“Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll let you know.”

Natasha pulls her phone out of her pocket, and taps a few times, then holds it out to Bucky. “Have you seen this man on the island?”

The photo shows a burly Caucasian man with a heavy brow and a scowl.

“I’m not sure.”

Natasha gives him an unimpressed look.

“Give me a second.” Bucky closes his eyes, lets his mind scroll back over the past weeks. A flicker of recognition, and then, he has it.

“I think he’s been at Skipper’s. Doesn’t sit and eat, though, just comes in, talks to one of the waiters, and goes through to the back.”

“How many times?”

“Two or three, maybe.”

“Do you know the dates?”

“Not off the top of my head, but I can probably figure it out.” He can confirm when he was at Skipper’s from his bank records, at least. “But first you need to tell me what’s going on.”

He sees Natasha waver. 

“Look, I’ll help if I can,” he says, surprising himself as he realizes how much his interest is piqued. Maybe he’s had enough of the quiet life after all. “But I need more information.”

He can see Natasha hesitating, and it makes him feel small. “You said Coulson approved it – approved me.”

“He did.”

“Then what’s the problem? Don’t you trust me?” he says tightly, trying not to show how much the thought stings. “Of course you don’t, why would I think you would?”

“No,” Natasha says calmly, “I do trust you, actually. Steve trusts you, so I trust you. But…” She sighs. “Steve is going to be really pissed.”

Bucky huffs out a laugh, some of the tension draining out of him. “Oh? Not so concerned with Steve’s best interests anymore, are you?”

Natasha smirks at him. “I didn’t say you getting involved isn’t in Steve’s best interests. I’m pretty sure neither of you idiots know what’s best for you. I just said he’d be pissed.” 

**********  
Bucky sets up his laptop on the dining room table next to his plate and tabs through the files Natasha sent him. There’s not much to look at. A German company has been buying some property on the island, and bidding for the right to build wind turbines off the coast. The company is only a year or so old, and hasn’t actually built anything yet. Based on some very tenuous evidence, Coulson thinks they might have ties to Hydra. The man Bucky saw in Skipper’s might be involved.

There’s nothing to indicate any present danger to inhabitants of the island, or anywhere else. No dastardly plan to blow people up, no kidnapping threat, no mind control device. Why are the Avengers even involved?

Bucky takes a bite of his sandwich, passes a few tiny pieces of turkey to Mittens, and texts Natasha.

_Doesn’t seem like Armageddon is approaching._

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. _You never know with these guys._

 _Why send America’s best and studliest?_ he asks. Seems like using Thor’s hammer to squash a mosquito.

_Everyone needs some R &R once in a while._

He thinks back to his first conversation with Natasha, the barely hidden pain in her voice when she described Steve as “heartbroken and sad.” How protective she is of him. 

_Is Steve okay?_

_Ask him yourself._

And there’s the rub, Bucky thinks to himself that night, another day having passed without him talking with Steve about the myriad of things he really should be talking with him about. _He didn’t call me either,_ a voice that sounds disturbingly like his eleven-year old self rings in his ears. _He asked if he could, and I said yes, but he didn’t call._

Bucky doesn’t really think it’s fair to put this on Steve, however, not when he’s honest with himself. Steve is the one who’s most upset about their coincidental meeting, he’s the one feeling the guilt about disrupting Bucky’s peaceful retreat. He’s also made it clear to Bucky that he’d like to talk to him. The fact that Steve didn’t call today doesn’t mean anything, except maybe that Steve’s still feeling guilty. 

That night he dreams about Steve, but it’s not a nightmare – at least not in the traditional sense. It’s fairly simple – he and Steve sitting next to each other, outside in the city on a hot summer night. Steve’s kicking his feet, running his mouth off about some jerk harassing a woman at the corner store, and what he would have done to him if the guy hadn’t backed off. Steve’s hair is shining bright in the moonlight, and Bucky is thoroughly, completely happy.

When Bucky wakes up, he struggles to hang on to the way he felt – content. Safe. He’s pretty sure it’s not just a dream – it’s a memory.

**********  
_You’re in,_ Natasha texts him, and sends him a link to a secure site where he reads more highly confidential information about Seawater Wind, the German power company, and Luka Dashkov, the supposed Hydra agent.

Dashkov has been back and forth to various European countries for years, and Bucky wonders why, if he’s such a big deal, Bucky hasn’t run into him before. Of course, it’s entirely possible that he did and just doesn’t remember him, but he’s read his own SHIELD files line for line, and the name never came up.

Dashkov is off-island at the moment, but Natasha thinks he’ll be back by the end of the week. She wants Bucky to keep going to Skipper’s, just as he’s been doing, but to keep an eye out for Dashkov and see what he can find out.

Frankly, it’s as easy as assignments come, and once again Bucky wonders why they don’t have some junior agent kicking his heels here in preppy winter wonderland instead of two of the country’s most powerful assets. Surely Captain America and the Black Widow could be of more use somewhere else. But he doesn’t question Natasha further on the subject. Whatever the explanation, he’ll play his part, if only to be in the loop if things go south. If Steve isn’t at his best, he could be in more danger than this run-of-the-mill mission seems to present. 

After going through the files he checks his emails, and smiles when he sees one from Nora. She apparently likes corresponding with Bucky, and has taken to sending him gossip-filled messages every two or three days. He gets the feeling she’s homesick, so he decides to do something nice for her. (He is not, absolutely not, putting off talking to Steve. He’s just doing the job he was hired to do.)

Bucky wanders around the house for a little while with a can of cat treats, trying to entice all three cats out of their hiding places. Mittens is easy – she’s up on his lap in a heartbeat, purring and rubbing her face against his metal hand. He snaps a few pictures of her, then sets off to find the others.

Miss Kitty is sleeping in Nora’s closet, almost completely hidden in a pile of clothes shoved against the wall. Bucky had felt badly about going into Nora’s private spaces, but Nora had urged him to, if that’s what it took to find her reclusive pets. The cat raises her head reluctantly when Bucky crouches down next to her with a treat in his hand. She won’t take it from his fingers, but she stretches a little orange paw out when Bucky sets it down next to her. The flash of his camera phone startles her, and she gives Bucky a look of betrayal before dashing out of the closet to god knows where.

Finding the gray cat is more of a challenge. Gracie doesn’t seem to have any set hiding places. Bucky has wondered if she simply stays outdoors most of the time, but the few times he has seen her, she is clean and neat, never dusty from rolling in the dirt like Mittens gets when she goes outside. But Bucky is good at this kind of thing, and today he finally finds her in the garage, sitting in the cardboard Amazon box Bucky has been meaning to put out for recycling. She stretches her back and walks stiffly towards him when he holds out the treat, and even seems to pose as he takes a few pictures. 

Bucky quickly composes a return email to Nora, attaches the best of the photos, and sends it off. Mission accomplished.

If only everything in his life were this straightforward.

Procrastination is not a new problem for Bucky. It’s probably one of his most irritating traits, at least it used to be. He’s a little different now, at least when it comes to certain matters – his security protocols, keeping safe, mission readiness. His brain won’t let him slack off even a little bit there.

But emotional stuff… He wonders, again, if part of the reason he went into cryo in Wakanda was to put off trying to figure out how – if – he could be a part of Steve’s life again. He shakes his head. Water under the bridge, right?

Taking out his phone, he scrolls to Steve’s number, then chickens out and sends a text. _Wanna talk?_

To his surprise, he gets a response from Natasha instead.

_Steve’s busy now – we just got more info from Coulson. Want you to see it too – can you come here?_

Okay, maybe I’m not quite as ready for action as I thought, Bucky thinks a few minutes later, as he hauls himself up off the floor where he had been sitting with his spinning head between his knees. There’s another text from Natasha.

 _You still there? Just an info session, no action._

Well, you could have told me that in the first place. 

A few minutes later, Bucky is in the old station wagon, heading towards the address Natasha had sent him. He feels a little naked, leaving for a mission without tac gear, or any weapons (the two knives he always has on his person hardly count), but Natasha had assured him that this was just a meeting. After a few more texts, he had realized that the purpose of the meeting was probably for Coulson to talk to him, to make sure he is ready. Good thing he didn’t see Bucky freak out on his kitchen floor.

It takes about fifteen minutes to get to the safe house Natasha and Steve are using. It’s towards the center of the island, in a wooded area that is probably very pretty during the summer. Right now, with all the leaves off the trees, it just looks barren and brown like everywhere else. 

As Bucky pulls into the driveway, a green pickup truck is pulling out. It comes to a stop, window rolling down, and Bucky sees Steve in the driver’s seat.

He rolls his own window down, and they just stare at each other for a long moment. Bucky can hear music coming from inside the pick-up, and wonders what Steve listens to these days. He’s guessing seventies rock from what he can hear, but he could be wrong.

“Where’re you going?” Bucky finally asks, when his heart slides down out of his throat.

“Coulson wants me in New York for a few days.”

“Really?”

Steve shrugs. “Guess he figures you can take over for me here. I’m not very good at undercover work.” There’s a sparkle in his eye that tugs at Bucky’s heart. “Ask Natasha.”

Bucky can’t really focus on that now, over the insistent chant of “don’t go,” running through his head. Bucky is dying to say it, and Steve is waiting, his face so open and hopeful. Predictably, Bucky doesn’t quite get it right.

“You, um, won’t be gone long?” 

“I hope not.” 

There it is, his opening. 

“Good, yeah, me too,” Bucky manages.

Smooth. But Steve tilts his head, nods, and gives Bucky a tiny smile. “See you soon.”

Bucky rests his forehead on the steering wheel as Steve drives away. This is ridiculous. He’s not a teenager; he should be able to handle interactions with other people better than this. He’d been doing just fine in Wakanda, and with the few people he’s talked to here.

It’s just that Steve isn’t just other people. He’s… Steve.

**********

The safe house is nondescript from the outside, similar to the other small homes around it, with a decent amount of woods on either side to provide some cover. It’s two stories, with a small living room, kitchen, and office on the first floor, and two bedrooms upstairs where Steve and Natasha are staying. Bucky isn’t particularly impressed with it until Natasha takes him downstairs, through a hidden door in the mudroom.

The basement has been built out into a fully functioning command center. There’s a main room with a large screen television on the wall, a table with computer monitors, and two black leather couches. A kitchen with a dining room table and chairs is off to the side, and Natasha points out a hall that apparently leads to several bedrooms. 

“But wait, there’s more,” Natasha says, grinning as she opens the door to another room. It’s filled with weapons, and Bucky catches the smirk on Natasha’s face as he tries to stifle his excitement. So what, he likes guns. This can’t possibly come as a surprise to anyone.

She humors him, pulling out a few of the more interesting options for Bucky to examine. When Bucky questions why they need enough weaponry to take down a small city, she just shrugs. “Never hurts to be prepared.”

They move into the kitchen, where Natasha offers him a cappuccino, and laughs at his puzzled reaction.

“Who set this place up, anyway?” Bucky asks a few minutes later, sipping at the drink. It’s delicious.

“All the tech came from Tony. And, well… all the kitchen stuff too. And the sheets. Apparently he simply can’t sleep unless they’re at least 1200 thread count Egyptian cotton.”

“Does he really still fund the Avengers? Isn’t that kind of weird, given the whole Sekovia Accords mess?”

Natasha sighs. “You’re not wrong. A lot of stuff has changed. Coulson’s in charge now, for one. Honestly, we shouldn’t really even call ourselves the Avengers anymore. But we all kind of like it.”

“And you’ve got all that branding you’d have to revise. That stuff’s expensive.”

“You have no idea how much swag Tony made us,” Natasha agrees, smiling. “Even got us color coordinated pajamas. Thor wore them for a week straight. Wait, I’ve got a picture…” She’s swiping through a file on her phone when there’s a beep, and she looks up with a sigh. “That’s Coulson Skyping us. I’ll have to show you later.”

They move into the main room and Natasha takes the call. Bucky feels a little strange reporting for duty in his jeans and green cotton henley, and tries to at least sit up straight on the couch. But Agent Coulson (in a suit and tie, looking exactly like he does in his official photos) doesn’t comment on it.

Coulson has already received Bucky’s medical and psych records from Wakanda, so there’s no need to rehash those particular topics. They talk a little bit about what Bucky’s been doing lately, what kind of physical shape he’s in, and what he’s interested in doing with the group. That last question trips him up for a moment; despite the fact that he knows, logically, that he’s not going to receive an order from Coulson he can’t refuse, he still isn’t used to considering operations as something voluntary.

Coulson waits patiently, face neutral, and Natasha is silent next to him. “Whatever’s needed, sir,” Bucky says finally, hoping that’s good enough.

Coulson’s perfect poker face wavers briefly. “I’d rather you be a little more specific about what you have in mind, Sergeant. Why don’t you think about it for a few days, and we can talk again?” He turns to include Natasha in his gaze. “For now, Barnes is cleared for the current mission, level of involvement to be determined at your discretion. Any questions, either of you?”

They shake their heads, Natasha and Coulson exchange some more pleasantries, and the call is over. Bucky feels a strange sense of relief, and catches Natasha giving him a curious glance.

“What, you thought he’d tell you we didn’t want your help? Coulson probably has your trading cards framed on his desk. You’re a decorated American solider, you know. A national hero.”

The thought of people idolizing him – even the person that he was before – sits uncomfortably with Bucky. “That’s not who I really am.”

Natasha holds his gaze evenly. “Well, now’s your chance to show us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I'm relatively new to writing in this fandom. If you enjoyed this and you're a Marvel fan, please stop by and [re-blog ](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/156843400572/winds-of-change-ch-4) this on Tumblr. Thank you!


	5. Chapter 5

Despite the all clear, Bucky doesn’t get a chance to show the team much of anything for the next few days. He goes to Skipper’s, taking care to dress the same way he did before he was on assignment (except for an extra knife in his boot and a small pistol at his back). The bartender asks if he wants to try a new beer they’re testing out, and he sips slowly at it while he waits for that night’s special, barbeque mac-n-cheese.

Dushkov doesn’t show, and after a few intensely dull hours during which Bucky wonders if stakeouts were always this boring, and considers the possible benefit of being brainwashed into doing them, he heads home.

Mittens greets him at the door, stretch-walking stiffly towards him, and he smiles. Who knew Bucky Barnes would turn out to be a cat person, he thinks, scooping her up in his arms as soon as he has shed his coat and boots. The cat purrs and rubs her face on his chin, and he murmurs silly words of praise into her fur as he goes up the stairs. 

Unfortunately Mittens does not get her way, as Bucky can’t seem to fall asleep, and he slides her out of the cozy nest she’s established behind his knees and gets out of bed. He pulls a sweatshirt and jeans on and wanders downstairs. It’s not unusual for him to be restless at night, but he’s even more keyed up than usual.

Not for the first time, he considers asking Natasha about what Steve’s doing. But Coulson has only cleared him for this mission, and he figures if Steve’s trip to New York was part of it, he’d know. He doesn’t want to overstep, or take advantage of his relationship with Steve, whatever that may be.

And that’s the crux of it, right there. It was so much easier when the whole Steve question could be summed up by “I need some time – we’ll talk later,” which some sassy part of his brain has started calling his “head in the sand” approach. But now his desire to see Steve is warring with his resolve, and he’s not sure what to do.

Bucky needs a distraction. He logs in to the secure website with their mission files and reads through the material on Seawater Wind again. The company has bought some property on the island, in Vineyard Haven and Tisbury, and has filed a number of petitions with those towns regarding zoning. 

The process of getting approval to build the energy generating machines is more complicated. The wind farm would be situated about fifteen miles offshore, with up to 100 huge structures – windmills that are apparently now called wind turbines – to generate electricity. He examines a photo of a similar ocean wind farm in Denmark, and frowns. They look like giant knife machines. No wonder no one wants them in their backyard.

Bucky turns to the next group of articles, focusing on the company’s efforts to make nice with Vineyard residents and power brokers. Seawater’s main contact has been making the rounds of island events, showing up at benefits and charity auctions, clearly trying to smooth the path for development.

Bucky searches for more information on the executive, a German native with a common enough name, but nothing meaningful comes up. He’s spent years in the energy industry, held positions at several prominent multinational companies, and joined Seawater a mere six months ago. A figurehead, Bucky decides. Probably doesn’t even realize Seawater’s connections to Hydra, if there even are any.

Thinking about Hydra leads him right back to worrying about Steve, and Bucky sighs. He’s never going to get any sleep at this rate. He thinks about going for a run – at least he’s unlikely to meet anyone on the road at two in the morning – but he’s not really all that keen about going outside in the thirty degree weather. Finally, he does what he’s been wanting to do all night.

 _Steve?_

He sends the text, just one word, no apology for texting in the middle of the night or while Steve’s on a mission or any of the other very reasonable normal person things he might have said. He doesn’t have to wait long for a response.

_Hey, Buck. What’s up?_

_Can’t sleep._ For a minute, it’s 1938 and they’re lying on the floor of Bucky’s living room, the window fan doing nothing except spreading the hot air around, two boys with no idea whatsoever of what’s to become of them.

 _I had sushi today,_ Steve replies. _You ever have sushi?_

 _Yeah, pal, I’ve had sushi. Eel’s my favorite. What about you?_

And just like that, things are better. Not resolved, not fixed, but better. They text back and forth for an hour, talking about nothing more significant than the strangest things they’ve seen in the future (meaning, now), and whether reality television shows are a sign of the end times. Finally Bucky nearly drops his phone with the force of a yawn, and they sign off. 

He can’t wait for Steve to get back from New York.

**********

Bucky’s at the safe house a few days later, sitting at the kitchen table with Natasha. She said she wanted to go over some new files with him, information on Seawater Wind’s proposal to lease a stretch of ocean for the wind farm, but Bucky thinks she just wanted company. He bases this conclusion not only on the fact that the new intel took them a total of about ten minutes to read, but that her first question to him upon his arrival was what kind of take-out he wanted for dinner.

They’re about halfway through their pork lo mein and tangerine beef when Natasha gets a call. She pulls on her leather jacket and zips it to her chin as she listens. 

“Hold down the fort?” she asks as she hangs up. “There’s suspicious activity by the docks in Vineyard Haven. Probably just some kids with toy drones. But Coulson wants me to check it out.”

“Okay.” Bucky spears another piece of beef, and tries to stay cool. Natasha’s posture changed the instant she heard Coulson’s message, and despite her feigned nonchalance, there’s clearly something going on. “Um, you sure you don’t want me to come?”

She turns to look at him, and her mission ready gaze slips into something almost fond. “Nah. Steve’ll be back here in an hour or so. Wouldn’t want him to come home to an empty house.” 

And with that she’s gone, and Bucky is left alone to contemplate this new piece of information. It’s not as if he didn’t know that Steve was due back soon – he just didn’t know it was tonight. Which is very soon. Practically right now.

Sometime in the past few days, right around the third night in a row he texted Steve and they talked about nothing for an hour, Bucky finally admitted to himself that he had zero interest in keeping his distance. He didn’t need any more time to adjust, or settle in, or meditate, or whatever he thought he needed time for. Not that he was going to abandon his housesitting gig – he’ll keep his word to Nora. But he wants to be back in Steve’s life, in whatever form that takes. 

That’s as far as he’s gotten with his navel-gazing, however. (He quite likes the term “navel-gazing.” Natasha taught it to him. She’s rather clever.) The precise nature of what his relationship with Steve is going to be is yet to be determined. 

Bucky doesn’t like the term “relationship” nearly as much as “navel-gazing.” But he’s not sure how to think about it. “Best friends since childhood, inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield” may be true, but it doesn’t fully capture how he feels, or what they were to each other back then, as undefined as it was.

He closes up the containers of Chinese food and puts them in the refrigerator, no longer hungry. Maybe Steve will want some when he gets back. 

Bucky sees his reflection in the dark window and a wave of insecurity washes over him. He considers hiding in the basement, or going back to his house, but settles for finding a comb in the bathroom and fussing with his hair. He has kept it long, not able to really commit to changing it, but he’s started thinking it’s time to cut it. The long hair gave him an excuse to be different, a signal to anyone watching that this wasn’t the Bucky Barnes they remembered. He’s not sure he really needs that anymore. Or, at least, not at the cost of looking like a sad hobo.

Bucky goes back to the kitchen and digs through the well-equipped drawers until he finds a scissors. It’s pleasingly sharp, and he returns to the bathroom and begins to snip. It may have been seventy years since he’s given himself a haircut, but it’s not rocket science. 

Fifteen minutes later he runs his fingers over his head, fluffing his short locks into place. In the mirror, his image grins back at him. Not bad. And he even has time to clean up the mess before Steve arrives.

Turns out, he didn’t need to worry – it’s more than two hours later before Bucky hears the front door open. His stomach does a somersault and he stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans and preparing to greet Steve.

He doesn’t expect to have to catch him as Steve stumbles through the door. There’s blood on his shirt, and he groans as Bucky helps him to a chair.

“What the hell happened?”

“Got jumped in the ferry parking lot,” Steve pants. “Six men. Well trained.”

“Did you tell-”

“Natasha’s on it. Took her a few minutes to get there, though. That’s why…” Steve trails off, leaning his head on the table. He’s got his big arms wrapped around himself, and looks to be in serious pain.

“Let me see,” Bucky says, trying to get a look at Steve’s injuries. 

But Steve flinches away. “’s’ fine. Don’ worry.”

Bucky crouches down and gets into Steve’s face. Bucky is getting a very bad feeling about the situation. He pulls Steve’s jacket away from his chest and pushes up his blood-stained shirt. There are a number of shallow cuts, but nothing Steve’s body won’t heal quickly. Maybe he’s in shock.

Bucky tugs a throw blanket off the couch in the living room and drapes it over Steve’s back. “Anyone follow you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, although he shakes his head a little.

“I’m going to do a quick perimeter check,” Bucky says, checking to make sure his knives and pistol are in place. “Stay here,” he adds unnecessarily.

All his senses are on high alert as he walks around the property. Except for Steve’s truck parked crookedly in the driveway, nothing is out of place. There’s no sign of intruders, Hydra or otherwise.

When he comes back inside to report, Steve barely acknowledges him. The blanket has slid off his shoulders on to the floor, and he’s nearly passed out, head resting on the table. 

“Steve?” Bucky puts a hand on his arm and shakes him, gently at first, then harder. “Steve? Wake up.”

No response. A spark of fear runs through Bucky as he slaps Steve across the face, bracing for Steve to yell at him, but Steve barely reacts. His eyes open, but they’re unfocused, drifting, and quickly slide closed.

Bucky pulls off Steve’s jacket, which is hard to do when Steve won’t help at all, and rips off his t-shirt. No major wounds, just those cuts, on his chest and his shoulders too. Suddenly Bucky gets a whiff of something bitter, and he knows.

Poison.

It’s as if a completely different part of his brain goes into action. He’s got Steve down in the basement and propped up against a couch before he knows it, the hefty first aid kit from the command center open next to him. 

Bucky grabs his phone and presses the emergency number Natasha had programmed into it. It’s a direct line to Coulson.

“Barnes?” Coulson answers immediately.

“Steve’s been poisoned. The knives used in the attack must have been coated in it.”

“Condition?”

“Not good. Breathing shallow, heartbeat slow, disoriented.”

There’s a pause, and Bucky can hear Coulson giving orders. “Help will be there in thirty minutes. Keep him awake.” There’s a pause. “Did you give him the universal antidote?” Coulson asks.

“You sure it won’t just make it worse?” 

“It’s what it’s for. It won’t hurt him.”

There is a packet of four pre-filled syringes in the medical kit, and Bucky’s hands are steady as pulls the covering off one and jabs the needle into Steve’s chest.

When Steve’s eyes blink open, Bucky feels like he can breathe again. 

“Coulson? It’s working.”

“Good. It won’t work on him for very long, though. You’re going to have to keep at it.”

Bucky’s not sure why the poison is working on Steve, either, but that’s a question for later. Right now, he’s got to focus on keeping Steve alive.

“Do you need me to stay on the line?” Coulson asks. “Or get Natasha to come join you?”

“She after the guys that did this to him?”

“Yes.”

“Then she needs to keep doing that. I can handle this.” Bucky hangs up, and turns his attention back to Steve, who blinks lazily at him.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky says, putting a hand to his face. “You with me?”

Steve doesn’t respond, and Bucky doesn’t waste any more time with small talk. He can’t rely on the antidote, not when it isn’t designed for a super soldier with a metabolism that runs at the speed of light. He pulls one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder and helps him stagger down the hall to the larger of the two bathrooms. He gets Steve into the shower, sits him up against the tile wall, and turns the water on cold.

This works remarkably well.

“Jesus what the fuck!” Steve yells. He tries to get up, but his limbs aren’t working quite right, and he just flails around. Bucky sits down and gets behind him, wraps his arms around Steve’s broad chest to hold him still. “Bucky, it’s freezing!”

“I know, Steve, I know. You were poisoned. Gotta keep you awake.”

After a few minutes, Steve settles down. Bucky is shivering like crazy, the only warmth where his chest is flush against Steve’s bare back. He can tell when Steve’s heartbeat slows again, and he curses quietly to himself for forgetting the first aid kit.

He extracts himself from behind Steve, gets another syringe, and runs back and injects Steve, who wakes up and yells again, only to drift off again a few minutes later.

They repeat this process twice more, using up all the antidote, before Bucky hears his phone ping with a text. “ETA one minute,” it reads, and Bucky figures that was a good a way as any to make sure he didn’t shoot the hell out of whatever doctor was about to arrive.

Moments later, there are footsteps on the stairs.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

A man with glasses and messy dark hair pokes his head into the bathroom. “I’m Dr. Banner. Can I take a look at Steve?”

Bucky is shaking as he tries to extract Steve from the shower. Tony appears in the doorway, quickly assesses the situation, and steps around Dr. Banner to help. He’s still mostly dressed in the Iron Man suit, so he easily lifts Steve and carries him into the kitchen, depositing him on the table at Banner’s direction.

Dr. Banner examines Steve, listening to his heartbeat and checking his responses. He sticks some kind of small patch on Steve’s chest to monitor his vitals. The whole time Dr. Banner quietly questions Bucky about Steve’s condition, and what Bucky has observed during the past half hour. Bucky doesn’t have a lot more to contribute, and he gets the feeling Dr. Banner is talking to him as much for Bucky’s benefit as for Steve’s. 

Tony is hovering nearby, his suit making ominous noises every time he shifts. After a few minutes, he flips open a panel on the arm of his suit and taps at it.

“You guys be okay if I take off? Natasha could use some help.” 

“She probably wouldn’t agree, but do what you need to do,” Banner says, directing a slight smile Tony’s way.

Tony snorts out a laugh, and leaves the room with a quick salute. 

Bucky relaxes a little as he goes. It’s easier to focus on Steve with one fewer person in the room, especially when that person was doing his best to kill him and Steve last time Bucky saw him. Bucky just wishes that whatever Dr. Banner is going to do, he’d do it faster. Steve’s breathing is slowing down again, and he’s as pale as a sheet.

“Sergeant Barnes?” Dr. Banner asks, and Bucky turns to him. He’s awfully calm for a man who can change into a giant green monster. “I’m going to test his blood, see if I can get some more detail on what type of poison was used. Then I’ll create a more specific antidote.”

“How long will it take?” Bucky says, his voice thin. It doesn’t seem like they have enough time for science experiments.

“Just a few minutes.” Dr. Banner moves towards Steve, a needle in his hand. “You might want to hold him down. This won’t hurt very much, but it could startle him.”

Bucky stands behind Steve’s head and puts his hands on his shoulders. Steve’s cold, from the shower or the poison, and it makes Bucky shiver in sympathy. Bucky’s more relieved than anything else when Steve struggles against him as Dr. Banner pierces his skin. “Hold still, Steve,” Bucky whispers in his ear. “Let the doc help you out.”

Steve’s eyes squint open. “Bucky? What are you doing here?”

“Just looking after your dumb self,” Bucky mumbles, moving around the table so he can look at Steve, one hand still on his shoulder. He’s not going to let himself worry about the fact that Steve doesn’t remember talking to him just a few minutes ago. “Had to go and get yourself into trouble again,” he jokes, trying to make Steve smile. But his eyes slide closed, and Bucky’s stomach clenches.

Dr. Banner pulls some complicated looking device out of a large duffel bag and sets it next to the sink, along with a little case full of vials of clear liquid. 

“Anything I can do to help?” Bucky asks, still keeping a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

The doctor is polite enough not to laugh, but shakes his head. “Thanks, but I’m good. It’s not as hard as it looks.”

Bucky doubts this, but then again, he doesn’t have anything to compare it too. Maybe this Banner guy comes up with cures for bioweapons every day.

“Do try to keep him awake, though.”

Bucky turns back to Steve. The cuts on his chest are already healing. If Bucky didn’t know better, he’d assume he was sleeping peacefully, his long lashes fanned out over his cheeks.

“Hey, Stevie,” he says, slapping him gently on the cheek. “Time to get up.”

“You’re going to have to use a bit more force,” Dr. Banner says, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

But Bucky’s had enough of hitting Steve. He’s got no desire to create more Hallmark moments of the Winter Solider variety.

He takes a knife from his belt, then pokes the tip of the knife quickly into the palm of Steve’s hand.

“Ow,” Steve mutters, trying to pull his hand away.

“You gotta wake up, Steve, or I’ll do it again.”

But he’s too out of it to hear, or understand, so Bucky continues to poke him a few more times. After a while Steve stops reacting.

“Almost ready,” Dr. Banner says. “Try to wake him up, I’d rather not jab him with this without notice.”

Frowning, Bucky looks over Steve’s body, wondering what other harmless pain he can subject him to. Despite the urgency of the situation, Bucky can’t help admiring Steve’s broad chest, and his strong, rounded pecs. Then he gets an idea, and before he can overthink it, he reaches down and tweaks Steve’s nipple, hard.

Steve jerks and his hand flies to Bucky’s, gripping it tight where it rests on his chest. “Jeez, buy a guy some dinner first.”

Bucky smiles and then steps out of the way as Dr. Banner comes over.

“No, no, stay right here. If he’s going to react badly to this, I’ll need you to play interference.” Dr. Banner says this seriously, and Bucky wonders how much effort he has to put into staying as calm as he seems. He learned more about the Hulk’s background during his stay in Wakanda; T’Challa had even suggested that he could provide sanctuary for Dr. Banner as well, apparently liking the idea of rehabilitating rage monsters. Bucky thought T’Challa was on to something, that Bucky might have a lot in common with a man whose alternate self was capable of mindless destruction. Fortunately for Bucky, if T’Challa’s doctors were right he isn’t about to turn into the Winter Soldier again, not even if someone pisses him off. Dr. Banner isn’t so lucky.

Bucky stays at Steve’s side, metal hand on his arm. He wants to be where Steve can see his face this time, but he’s ready to get more involved if need be.

“Actually, this injection needs to go into his leg,” Dr. Banner says. “Can you take his pants off?”

Bucky startles, and Dr. Banner finds his eyes. He must see something worrisome there, as he immediately looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, forgive me.” He grabs a scissors out of the med kit and cuts an opening in Steve’s khakis. “This is quicker anyway.”

Bucky’s still trying to catch his breath, while simultaneously berating himself for letting his teenage nerves interfere with taking care of Steve properly, when Dr. Banner takes a rather scary looking, long as hell needle and positions it over Steve’s thigh. “Here we go.”

Steve barely flinches as the needle goes in, but then lets out a groan. Within seconds he starts to move, and Bucky swiftly holds him down, his metal hand on Steve’s knee and the other on his chest. 

“Hold him still,” Dr. Banner mutters, shooting a concerned look at Steve, and Bucky leans further over him, trapping his entire upper body with his own. Steve’s face is tight with pain, and he starts to breathe faster, almost panting.

“What’s going on? Why is it hurting him?” What if Banner screwed up, Bucky thinks. What if Banner’s actually killing him? What if he’s part of Hydra? What if-

Bucky’s about to turn on the doctor, his racing thoughts getting the best of him, when Steve shudders and lets out a long breath, his tense muscles relaxing under Bucky’s hands. Dr. Banner has moved to his other side, taking his pulse and watching him closely. “The antidote burned going in. The compound is delivered more quickly that way. I wasn’t sure how much he’d feel.”

Bucky stands up, trailing his hand over Steve’s chest, letting it rest on his arm. Steve is calming, his thrashing settling to mere twitches. But Banner looks upset, and Bucky knows that’s not a good thing.

“Hey, Steve can take it,” Bucky says, trying to sound reassuring, despite the fact that a moment ago he’d been ready to rip Dr. Banner’s throat out for putting Steve in pain. “Super soldier, remember?”

Dr. Banner looks at Bucky, seemingly surprised at his tone.

“How did you get here so fast, anyway?” Bucky asks, trying to change the subject. “I didn’t realize you were…” he trails off, realizing as he speaks that Banner might take it the wrong way.

“Still Avenging?” Dr. Banner asks wryly. “I’m not. But Coulson has me on speed dial, for emergencies.”

Bucky looks at Steve, breathing calmly, his heartbeat strong and steady. “I’m grateful for your help.”

Dr. Banner looks away at this, and Bucky wonders if maybe he doesn’t get thanked properly very often.

“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Dr. Banner says, moving around to the equipment by the sink. “I’ll need to draw more blood in about thirty minutes to measure the effectiveness of the antidote, then administer an adjusted dose afterwards.”

“How many more doses will he need?”

“Hopefully just one more. But with his metabolism…” Dr. Banner shrugs. “I’ll keep a close eye on him. As long as it’s working, giving him more won’t be a problem. And I can add something to the next dose so it won’t burn so much.”

“Honestly, Dr. Banner, he’s not gonna be mad at you. Believe me.”

Dr. Banner looks at Bucky and smiles. “Please, call me Bruce.”


	6. Chapter 6

Steve still hasn’t woken up, but Dr. Banner – Bruce - doesn’t seem concerned. “His body was significantly stressed by the poison. He’s just sleeping now. It’s good for him.”

Bruce is working at the counter, measuring out what Bucky assumes are the ingredients for the next dose of antidote, although he comes over to Steve every few minutes to check on him. Bucky notices that he doesn’t rely solely on the monitor he stuck on Steve’s chest, preferring to compare the readings with his own observations. Bucky approves.

“He’ll be alright for a few minutes if you need to stretch, or, you know, use the facilities.”

Bucky looks up to see Bruce gazing at him, a concerned look on his face. “I’m fine.”

Bruce tilts his head. “You haven’t moved a muscle in twenty minutes. And you look like you’re about to pass out.”

Bucky frowns. “I’m really not.”

Bruce peels off his own sweatshirt and tosses it at Bucky, who catches it automatically. “At least take off your wet shirt and put this on. You’re making me cold just looking at you.”

Bucky has almost forgotten that he sat in an ice cold shower with Steve, that his hair and clothes are still chilled and damp. The sweatshirt is soft in his hands, so he strips off his henley and pulls it on. It feels nice. Warm.

“Looks good on you.”

It’s dark red, with an MIT logo on the front. “False advertising.” 

Bruce shrugs. “Tony gave it to me. This shirt, too.” He points to his t-shirt, with “Wicked Smart” in big block letters across the chest. “He can’t make me fancy armor, so…” Bruce turns back to the counter and picks up a syringe. “All right, I’m going to draw some more blood.” 

Bucky puts his hands to Steve’s shoulders again, but this time Steve doesn’t even stir as the needle goes in. 

It’s only a few minutes before Bruce reports back, a cautious smile on his face as he looks at the readouts. “It’s working.”

Bucky sighs in relief. “Thank god.”

“I’ll be ready with the second dose soon, just want to make some minor adjustments. In the meantime, maybe you can get him into one of the bedrooms? You’d both be more comfortable.”

Bucky’s fine where he is, but he figures Bruce is right, especially if Steve is going to be sleeping like this for any period of time. They’ve slept on rougher surfaces than fancy kitchen tables, but Steve deserves to be able to rest comfortably.

“Hey, buddy,” Bucky says, leaning close to Steve and putting a hand to his cheek. “Any chance you can wake up for me? Just for a minute?”

Steve doesn’t respond right away, but when Bucky gets an arm under him and lifts him to a sitting position, his blue eyes flutter. “What’s wrong?” he mumbles.

“Nothing’s wrong. You’re safe, everyone’s okay. Just want to get you into bed,” Bucky says in what he hopes is a calming tone. He helps Steve off the table and down the hallway. Steve’s barely conscious, stumbling heavily, but Bucky supports his weight easily enough.

Bruce follows them down the hall. Bucky drags Steve into the first bedroom he comes to. It’s got two double beds, and Bruce slides past them to pull the covers back on one of them. They help Steve lie down, and then Bruce matter-of-factly undoes Steve’s belt and zipper, Bucky shifting his body so they can tug off his pants. Bucky’s earlier discomfort isn’t discussed. At least Bruce doesn’t insist on removing his boxers. 

Bucky just stands and stares at Steve for a minute while Bruce gets the second dose, and then holds Steve across the chest as Bruce injects it into his thigh. True to his word, this one doesn’t seem to hurt Steve the way the first one did, although his mouth twists into a grimace as the needle goes in.

“All done,” Bruce says, stepping back. “There are pajamas in the drawers if you want them. Get some sleep.” 

Bucky’s not sure he’s in agreement. “Shouldn’t I be awake, in case Steve needs…?”

“I’ll check his blood again in two hours, and I’ll watch his vitals the whole time. You don’t need to stand guard.”

That’s probably what it looks like he’s been doing, Bucky knows, but he doesn’t see the problem. 

“I have the feeling that knowing you’re here is more important to Steve than having you count his heartbeats,” Bruce says softly. “I’ll be outside if you need anything. I promise I’ll be awake.” He runs his fingers through his messy hair, and gazes off to the side. “And no one who wants to hurt Steve can get past me.”

It’s true, Bucky knows, even if the consequences to Bruce (and their cozy safe house) would be dire.

Bruce leaves, closing the door behind him, and Bucky considers his options. When he lets himself feel it, he’s beyond exhausted, and getting some rest is probably logical, especially since whatever battle Natasha and Tony are fighting might result in a round two sometime soon.

But what Bruce said… he has been counting Steve’s heartbeats, watching his breathing, just like he used to do when they were kids, when Steve was sick as a dog and struggling to get oxygen into his lungs. But he didn’t used to do it by standing stock still next to him.

Making up his mind, Bucky peels off his damp jeans and opens the dresser drawer Bruce had indicated. There are in fact several sets of pajamas, including flannel pants in varying sizes. Bucky takes out a soft pair in red, white and blue plaid (clearly meant for Steve – he’s starting to get Tony’s sense of humor) and pulls them on. He leaves on the MIT sweatshirt (it’s ridiculously warm) and slowly sits down on the edge of the bed next to Steve.

He could, of course, sleep in the other bed. But it’s as if Bruce could read his mind, because what Bucky desperately wants to do is to let Steve know he’s here. He wants that worried look off Steve’s face, the look he’s had every time Bucky has seen him since he fell off the train during the war – the look that means Steve is desperately hoping Bucky is all right.

Bucky slides down next to Steve, on his side with his metal arm tucked up under the pillow. He pulls the fluffy comforter up over them both. Steve’s on his back, and it’s not what Bucky remembers; Steve used to sleep curled up on his side, Bucky close behind him, keeping him warm.

He puts his good hand on Steve’s arm. His skin is still cool, like when they were kids. Not at all toasty warm, the way post-serum Steve should be. Letting out a slow breath, Bucky reaches across Steve’s chest, and rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder. His face is against Steve’s neck, and his body moves with every breath Steve takes. Bucky’s nervous, not sure he should be doing this, despite Bruce’s encouragement. It seems a little too much like being selfish.

Because the funny thing is, although he’s supposedly doing this for Steve, it’s the safest Bucky has felt since he can properly remember.

Bucky stirs when Bruce comes in to check on them, but apparently his mission imperatives have been soothed away by Steve’s steady breathing, as he falls right back to sleep and doesn’t wake up until the next morning.

He knows it is morning because Tony bangs on the door and announces it. “Pancakes in twenty, super soldiers included. I’m making patriotic ones for Cap – don’t miss ‘em.”

Bucky still has his arm around Steve’s chest, and his whole body has joined in, his chest pressed to Steve’s and a foot wrapped around his calf. He pulls back slowly, a little embarrassed, but he can’t help the smile that stretches his cheeks.

It’s gone the moment Steve wakes up, however, as Steve’s eyes open and he immediately throws himself back against the wall. Bucky supposes they should count themselves lucky Steve didn’t actually go through it.

“Bucky, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” Steve is scrambling up and over Bucky, out of the bed and across the room before Bucky can stop him. “I had no idea, I would never, you didn’t want-”

He looks adorable, in his blue and white checked boxer shorts and his hair sticking up every which way. And clearly fully healed and functional, which is more of a relief than Bucky can process right now. “Steve, it’s okay, really it is.”

Bucky pushes himself out of the bed and starts to move towards Steve, but the wretched expression on Steve’s face stops him. 

“Steve, hey,” Bucky stretches out his hand, touches Steve’s arm gently with a fingertip. Steve presses his lips together and looks down. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Honest to god.”

Steve shakes his head and wraps his arms around his waist. “Yes, there is. You asked me to give you space, and I didn’t. Not even a fucking inch, apparently.”

Bucky can’t really believe they’re still having this conversation. He had thought they were well past it. He’s certainly thought it over plenty himself… but maybe he neglected to actually talk about it with Steve?

“You did give me space, Steve. You did. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“No? All you wanted was peace and quiet – that’s what you said – and not only did I come barging in to your safe space, that you found on your own, without anyone’s help, not only did I invade what you created but I brought violence and guns and pushy Avengers. And to top it off - I brought Hydra.” Steve’s voice is rising, and his fists are clenched at his sides. “Hydra. How the hell is that doing what you asked?”

“Steve, calm down, it’s okay, they were here anyway, you didn’t bring them-”

“No, it’s not okay – it’s not freaking okay. I thought I could handle this, that I could take care of it all myself and you wouldn’t have to get involved, that you wouldn't have to see me, but then this ends up happening…” Steve glares at the room, at the bed, as if the pillows themselves were out to get him. “How can you ever trust me?”

There’s a rattling noise, and they both swerve their heads to find the source. It’s Bucky’s phone, fallen to the floor from where he left it on the nightstand and vibrating against the hardwood. Bucky picks it up out of habit.

It’s a text from Natasha.

_Let us know if you need help with our resident drama queen. And Tony says he’ll only keep the pancakes warm for ten more minutes._

“They can hear us, can’t they,” Steve says glumly. He slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, head resting on his knees.

“Yeah, pal, they can.” Bucky doesn’t point out that it’s only because Steve insists on yelling; it probably wouldn’t be constructive. He comes over to Steve and stands in front of him, waiting.

“Sit down, already.”

Bucky does, although he doesn’t touch Steve. “Just yesterday, before you got back, I was having a very intense navel-gazing session.”

Steve huffs. “Can’t believe you said ‘navel-gazing.’”

“When the shoe fits… anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Back in Wakanda, and then when I got here.”

“I know,” Steve interrupts, his tone bitter. “That was the point, right? Peace and quiet so you could think.”

“The point wasn’t just to have time to think,” Bucky says. “I mean, the thinking wasn’t the point – it wasn’t the _goal._ The goal was to figure stuff out.”

Steve turns his head and frowns at him. “Not sure where you’re going with this.”

“Well, all that thinking made me realize something.”

“What did you realize?”

Now he has Steve’s attention, and Bucky keeps going before he loses his nerve. “How much I missed you.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, and Bucky feels all the air slide out of his lungs. 

“Yeah?” Steve says, lifting his head to look at Bucky straight on.

“Yeah. Like crazy.” Bucky twists towards Steve, lets his legs tips over until his knee is leaning against Steve’s. “And whatever it is I still need to think about… I don’t want to miss you anymore.” He takes a deep breath. “I should have said it sooner, should have let you know that having you show up here isn’t a problem at all. It’s just what I needed to help me along. It’s perfect.”

“You’re just saying that because…” Steve trails off, apparently unable to fill in the blank.

“Why would I possibly lie about this, Steve?” Bucky says, keeping his voice soft. “You mean everything to me. You always have.”

Steve looks shell-shocked, but there’s something like hope dawning in his eyes. “Okay, still… I don’t wanna rush you, Bucky. You deserve to take all the time you need to heal.”

“I appreciate that, Steve. I really do. But…” Bucky looks carefully at Steve. Steve used to be free with his feelings, at least when it came to Bucky, and now he seems so afraid to let go. Steve’s been out of the ice for years, but underneath all that charm and muscle, he’s still unhappy. And scared. “Maybe from now on, we can heal together?”

Steve lets out a choked sound and grabs Bucky into a hug, burying his face in his neck. 

“It’s okay, Stevie, it’s okay,” Bucky says, his throat tight with painful joy. “We’re gonna be okay.” He’s overwhelmed by Steve, the feel of his body, the sound of his voice murmuring his name. Bucky’s hands wind around Steve’s waist and Steve just squeezes harder in response, one hand going to the back of Bucky’s head and keeping him close. 

“You cut your hair,” Steve whispers, his breath warm on Bucky’s neck.

“Yeah.”

“I like it.”

Bucky tilts his head, his nose pressed against Steve’s scratchy cheek, his lips tantalizingly close to Steve’s. He’s about to go for it when the door to the bedroom pops open and Steve pulls back so fast Bucky has to give him kudos for his reflexes.

“See? Told you they weren’t still in bed,” Tony says, holding a plate of pancakes, while Natasha and a guy Bucky is pretty sure is the one with the arrows look over Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony, for fuck’s sake,” Steve groans.

“Language, Cap,” Tony replies with a smirk. “Come on, time for breakfast.”

Over pancakes, bacon, and several dozen eggs, Bucky and Steve hear all about the fight with Dushkov and his men. Luckily it never got worse than poisoned knives, although even Natasha seems impressed with their skills.

“We would have taken them down even faster with you guys there,” Tony says, popping another piece of bacon in his mouth. “Tonight will be a breeze.”

“Tonight?” Steve says, a forkful of pancake on its way to his mouth.

“Yup. When we all take out the base.”

Steve immediately begins to protest, and Bucky feels himself grow angry as he realizes why Steve is so against what is clearly the next logical step to take.

“I’m in,” Bucky says, licking a last drop of syrup from his lips and standing up. “Anyone got the blueprints? We should work out a strategy.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? You don’t think it’s too soon for you to get involved?” she asks, almost eager to bait Steve.

“Coulson cleared me,” Bucky says, tamping down his impatience. “So unless any of you have a problem with it, I’d really like to see how Hydra reacts to having their most favorite toy turned against them.”

Tony grins, and Natasha and arrow-guy (Clint, Bucky reminds himself) high-five. Steve looks offended, and stalks out of the room. Bucky sighs and is about to go after him, but Bruce shakes his head.

“Give him a minute, and then let me talk to him,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt before putting them back on his face. 

“Fine.” Bucky takes a deep breath. “I’ve gotta go back to the house, anyway. Feed the cats.”

Natasha stands up and carries her plate over to the dishwasher. “You don’t have to, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“I stopped by this morning, on my way home.”

Bucky stares at her. She’s getting the dish soap out of the cabinet, struggling with the childproof cap, which is funny since she’s strong enough to just rip the whole thing off. “What do you mean, you stopped by?”

Natasha turns and holds the soap out to Clint, who twists off the cap and hands it back to her. “I went by your place. Watered the plants – Nora left really specific instructions, didn’t she? Very helpful. And I fed the cats. That little gray one is adorable – she followed me around the whole time.”

“Gracie – but she never comes out – how did you even get in there?” Bucky sputters.

Natasha raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. “Do you really have to ask?” 

“I can’t believe you broke into my house. Did you have fun going through my drawers?”

“I didn’t read your diary, if that’s what’s your asking. But there’s a duffel with some clothes for you in the other room. Feel free to thank me anytime.”

Tony chuckles, and Bucky wants to slap him. Instead he stands up and walks into the living room. There are two matching duffel bags on the couch, each with the stylized “A” Avengers logo.

“The second one’s from me,” Tony says, apparently having followed him out of the kitchen. Bruce is trailing behind, whether for moral support or to run interference, Bucky isn’t sure. “Just tac gear I’ve been working on for you. And some other stuff.”

The other stuff includes a sniper rifle that makes Bucky’s heart speed up. Try as he might, he knows he can’t hide the excited expression on his face as he checks it out. 

“I made a few adjustments. Should improve accuracy, at least for a shooter with a steady hand.” Tony’s eyes flicker to Bucky’s metal arm and then back up to his face. “I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone else.”

“You custom engineered a rifle for me,” Bucky says, disbelievingly.

Tony shrugs, and Bruce bumps his shoulder affectionately. “It’s kind of what he does,” Bruce says. “And what he’s trying really hard not to say is that he can make it even better, if you let him get a look at your arm.”

“Bruce! We had an agreement! Don’t mention the arm, you’ll scare him off!” Tony exclaims, only half in jest.

“What I’m saying is, Tony’s good at this stuff. He’ll do whatever he can to help you.”

“Why?” The word pops out, and Bucky wants to face plant with how pathetic he sounds.

“Bucky, we tend to be more nosy than is healthy, and some of us have an insufficient respect for personal space,” Bruce says. “But you’re on the team now, and we’ll always have your back.”

Natasha appears next to him (he didn’t even notice – she’s that good), and admires the rifle in his hands. “Especially if you inspire Tony to make kickass weapons.”


	7. Chapter 7

Bucky showers and changes into clean clothes, giving Bruce a chance to talk to Steve, and giving Steve a chance to calm down, before he goes to talk to him. He’s known Steve for a lot longer than anyone here, despite the rather significant gap in their personal timeline, and he knows how Steve gets when he’s upset.

Bruce meets Bucky in the kitchen when he comes out. “You going to go talk to him now?”

Bucky nods. “Yup. Unless he ran off.”

Bruce smiles softly. “He wanted to go out for a run. But he used the treadmill instead.”

“I suppose you told him that going out while we’re under attack is stupid?”

“It’s a conversation we’ve had before.”

Bucky pours himself a cup of coffee. It’s lukewarm, but he drinks it down anyway. “Treadmill still working?”

“It’s a special model. Reinforced.”

“Engineered by Tony?”

Bruce laughs. “You’re catching on.”

Bucky’s turning to leave when Bruce stops him with a hand on his arm.

“You probably know this already, but… when it comes to you, Bucky, Steve is…” Bruce trails off, and Bucky’s mind rushes to fill in the rest of his sentence. Hurt? Angry? Fed up?

“Vulnerable,” Bruce says, and a tremor of sorrow runs through Bucky’s heart.

*****  
He finds Steve in the first floor living room. He’s got a throw blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders, and he’s staring out the glass sliding doors that lead to a small concrete patio.

“At least move away from the windows. Jeez.”

Steve turns to see him. Bucky can’t read his expression.

“You know, everybody here thinks I’m such an old man,” Steve says, as if they were already in the middle of this conversation. “Natasha calls me a fossil. But when I see you, Bucky, it’s like I’m a kid again. A stupid, skinny, lovesick kid, who’s just waiting for you to find someone better, some _thing_ better, some better place to be. Watching you twirl a gorgeous dame on the dance floor, seeing you handsome and dapper in your uniform. Just waiting for you to leave me.”

“Steve, I never wanted to leave you-”

“I know, Buck, I know.” Steve rubs the back of his neck and frowns. “But we don’t always get what we want, do we? And now… now you’re back, and you’re…” Steve looks up, and his eyes are filling with tears, “and you’re _you_ again, and you’re so wonderful, and all I want,” his breath hitches, “all I want is to keep you safe.” He scrubs at his eyes and turns away.

“You know you can’t, right?” Bucky says softly, coming up behind Steve and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Whether I go out to fight or not, I’m gonna live my life. You can’t put me in a box and keep me there, for you to take out and play with in your spare time.” 

Steve turns to him, hurt flashing in his eyes. “You know damn well that’s not what I mean.”

“No?” Bucky’s having trouble holding his temper, but his voice stays low. Steve really doesn’t understand. “Because that’s what I’d like to do with you, if I could. I mean it. I’ve had to watch you too, you know. Watch you do ridiculously dangerous things, in the name of a country that doesn’t seem to give a shit about your actual well-being. Since I realized who I was, who you were to me, you’ve fought aliens, and monsters, and crazy-ass humans. Headlines all over the world are constantly reminding me that even if I don’t give in to my programming and kill you myself, someone else probably will.”

Steve’s face falls.

“And then there’s that,” Bucky says. “The way you react, every time I say something about what happened to me. I can’t not talk about it, Steve, it was fucking decades of my life.” He takes a long breath in, tries to stop the shaky feeling that’s coming over him.

“Bucky, I’m sorry-”

“I know it hurts you, to think about what they did to me,” Bucky says, pushing through. “You think I don’t know? You get this look on your face when you think about it, like just looking at me is making you sad. You’re doing it right now. Thinking about poor abused Bucky Barnes. Fuck, this is impossible.”

Bucky makes it to the couch and sits down hard. He’s trembling, and he can’t make it stop. He wants so much to be with Steve, to be _with_ Steve the way they used to, but maybe it’s just not meant to be.

Apparently he said that out loud, though, because Steve is by his side in an instant. “No, no, Bucky, don’t say that. We’ll figure it out, we will, I know we can.” His sad face is gone, replaced by that stubborn expression that Bucky knows so well.

“What happened to me is never going to go away completely,” Bucky says. “But I’m not gonna be content to stay home and keep your dinner warm, either. I can’t be that guy. It’s not me. It never was.” 

Steve nods his head in agreement. “I know. I never really thought… I know.”

“Coulson brought me in for a reason,” Bucky says. “And Natasha’s been briefing me for days.”

“I know.”

“And not to be too on the nose, but… I have been training for this sort of thing all my life.” Bucky lets a hint of humor shade his voice, and Steve responds with a long sigh.

“I know, Buck. I know all of it, rationally. I just…” Steve grabs his hand – Bucky’s metal hand, nearest to Steve – and holds it tight. “I just don’t want to lose you again.”

Bucky studies Steve, how lost he looks behind his blue eyes, and a thought occurs to him. “Well, if you’re not ready, I can stay back tonight.”

“What?” This is obviously not what Steve expected to hear.

“I’m ready to go back out. I’m good, mentally and physically. I’m not going to snap and kill anyone I’m not supposed to. But if you aren’t ready to have me there, I’ll monitor the action from the command center. Give Coulson the benefit of my vast experience with Hydra bases. Keep Bruce company.”

Steve looks at Bucky as if he’s speaking in Russian. Bucky’s about 95% sure he isn’t.

“Bucky – this isn’t up to me. It’s your body, your life. It’s not about me. It’s not my decision.”

“Why not? I told you how I feel. But you matter, too. If we’re going to be…” Bucky still can’t put a name on it. He never could. “Why shouldn’t you get a say in what happens?”

Steve opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Bucky waits. Finally, Steve speaks. “The last time I insisted on something, I wound up starting a civil war among the Avengers.”

“And you made an important point, and saved my life in the process. I’d say that makes your opinion pretty damn valuable.”

Steve’s eyes go wide, but then he just shakes his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He’s still holding Bucky’s hand, and Bucky gives his a squeeze.

“Look, here’s how I see it. If I go with you tonight, I can be a real asset to the team.” He tries not to stumble over the word “asset,” though he’s only moderately successful. “It will be safer for everyone.” Bucky can’t help but quirk a smile at the phrase, and Steve shoves him with his shoulder.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Maybe. I mean it, though. I’ll stay back if you want. I want to do this, but it doesn’t make a difference to me if I jump back in tonight or some other time. But if I go tonight, I’ll be watching your six with the most accurate rifle Stark genius can create. And I’m a very, very good shot.”

****** 

The Hydra base Coulson sends them to is a large building that used to house an ice rink. It wasn’t one of the places Seawater Wind had purchased, and they only found out about it when Natasha interrogated one of the men who attacked Steve. Bucky had a feeling that hadn’t been a very pleasant conversation.

Now Bucky’s up in the rafters, well away from the action on the ground. The ice rink itself is gone, and the floor has been dug out to create a cavernous space. The reason becomes clear moments after they enter, when they see a group of model wind turbines lined up at the far end of the room. They aren’t as big as the real ones will be, only about fifty feet tall, with rotors that extend about another twenty-five feet. But they’re impressive enough, and the Hydra agents who swarm out around them seem intent on protecting them.

The team is making steady progress against the men, Tony and Steve taking point, Natasha on flank, and Clint and Bucky up in the rafters, when there’s a sound like an engine starting, and a long squeal.

Bucky sees it first. “The turbines are moving,” he warns through the comm link.

“I’ll check it out,” Tony says. But then the large windmills actually start to move – not just spin their blades, which is bad enough, but slide forward, stalking across the space. The Hydra agents move aside to let them through, and Bucky hears Tony curse. “We’ve got to disable these things, and fast. Ideas?”

Their task becomes even more difficult as bullets start to fly out of the turbines.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Natasha says, as she hurls another Hydra agent out of the way. “Tony, can’t you just blow them up or something?”

“Sure, if you want me to take down the whole building.”

“Tell me again why that isn’t an option?” Clint asks, as his arrows take out two more men. 

“Doesn’t look good to blow up another popular tourist destination,” Steve says. He sends his shield flying towards the turbines, but the spinning blades toss it off course, and he has to run to get it back. “Plus we’re on conservation land.”

Bucky studies the turbines through the scope of his rifle (it’s really the most beautiful weapon he’s ever used, although he can see what Stark means about needing a steady hand for it to work). It’s difficult to look for the mechanism where the bullets are coming out without getting shot in the process, but he finally locates what he thinks is the right spot.

Confirmation comes quickly, as he pulls the trigger and disables the firing mechanism on his target.

The turbines react, however, by shifting the angle of their approach, protecting the central mechanism from Bucky’s line of fire.

“Did anyone else see that?” Clint asks. “Because I think these things are sentient.”

“Not a chance,” Tony says. “See that guy in the corner? He’s got the controls. Nat, can you-”

“Already on it.”

Bucky exchanges a glance with Clint, and starts to work his way to the side, where he can get a clearer shot at the turbines. Clint keeps up the pressure from his position so that they can’t turn back. It works for a few minutes, Bucky taking out three more of the turbines. As he’s moving again to get the rest of them, there’s a commotion on the ground.

More Hydra agents swarm into the room, and this time they’ve got bigger guns. Bucky picks off a few of them, firing as fast as he can. Steve’s down there, his shield much more effective against the men than the turbines, so Bucky is about to turn his attention back to the giant knife machines when it happens.

He’s focused on one of the Hydra agents, looking right at him through the scope of his rifle, when the man mouths a word in Russian. Bucky’s mind freezes, and his vision goes hazy. He fights it, pushes back against the pressure in his head, and comes to a moment later, clinging to the rafter despite the almost overwhelming panic rushing through him. 

“Barnes – Barnes – they’re getting closer-” he hears Clint’s tense voice through the comm, and wrenches himself around to take aim at the turbines. He takes four of them out in quick succession, but can’t get a line on the remaining ones. Bucky swings left, jumping to a new perch. Clint’s moving too – one of the turbines has almost reached him, and the blades are coming way too close to him for comfort.

“Get out of there, I’ll get it,” Bucky says, but Clint can’t move fast enough to get away from the slashing blades. Tony flies up and plucks him out of harm’s way, but now there’s nothing keeping the turbines from focusing their attention on Bucky.

There’s a boom and a crash from below, and Bucky hears Natasha cheering – he’s not sure what’s going on, but he hopes she’s figured out how to control the turbines herself, and shut the damn things off. The Hydra agents are intensifying their fire, however, and Bucky picks off a few of them. It’s like shooting fish in a barrel.

Unfortunately the turbines don’t seem to be stopping anytime soon, however, and he’s still not able to disarm the last group. Every time he moves, they move too, protecting the firing mechanism at the center of the rotors. Bucky knows the team must be getting tired, and they don’t have a lot of time left before the turbines shoot their way past them. Taking a chance, he swings forward, running down a rafter directly in between the four remaining turbines, shooting as he goes. Of course, the turbines are still shooting too, but one of them crashes into another as it turns, and he takes out two as he weaves through them. 

When Bucky gets through, he spins around and does it again, dashing back through the turbines. He gets the last two, but then his rifle falls from his arm. He feels lightheaded, his feet sliding out from under him, and everything goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting an extra chapter this weekend - enjoy!
> 
> And - Marvel fans, if you’re so inclined, please [re-blog ](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/157116467597/winds-of-change-ch-7) this on Tumblr.


	8. Chapter 8

There’s a heavy weight on Bucky’s legs, and a tremor of fear runs through him as Bucky tries to move his arms and can’t.

“Bucky? Bucky, it’s okay. You’re safe, it’s okay.”

Bucky squints his eyes open and sees Steve’s face in front of his own, blue eyes warm and steady. Steve’s sitting on his thighs, one hand holding down his right arm. Bucky looks around - he’s in bed, back in the room at the safe house where he started off the day.

Bucky tries to move again, and Steve takes his hand, shaking his head. “Please hold still, Buck, you’re hurt.” He can flex his right arm, but when he tries to move his left… nothing.

“What happened?”

“You got hit,” Steve says, his eyes fixed on Bucky’s own. “Right after you took out all the turbines with that crazy stunt.”

Bucky can’t help wanting to grin, although even his face feels tired. “It worked, didn’t it?” He takes a deep breath and winces, starting to feel the pain in his chest. “You gonna tell me why you’re sitting on me? Because you’re not exactly a lightweight anymore.”

Steve looks down, biting his lip. “We weren’t sure what condition you’d be in when you woke up, if you’d be in shock, or…”

“You were worried I’d wake up as the Winter Soldier.” Bucky can’t really deny the logic of this, and his stomach clenches in shame.

Steve looks at him sadly. “Not really, but… we just didn’t know. I’m sorry. I thought at least this would be better than restraining you.”

For that at least, he should be grateful. “No, Steve, you were right. You were completely right.” 

“And then there’s the bullet near your heart.”

Bucky blinks, trying to process this additional piece of disturbing information. He looks down at his chest, which is bare except for the white bandage covering a spot where his metal arm connects to his chest.

“Um, what?”

Steve presses his eyes shut, then opens them again. “Sorry. My bedside manner isn’t too great right now, I’m…” he trails off. Bucky studies Steve, sees the circles under his eyes, the worry clear on his face.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot. I’ll be okay.” Bucky tries to reassure him, wishing he sounded more confident. “Hey, come on, fill me in. How did it end? Rest of the team all right?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. We all got out without a scratch, thanks to you taking out every one of the battle turbines. Natasha’s still at the base doing cleanup with Clint and some other guys Coulson sent over. All the Hydra goons are accounted for. They’re going to dismantle the turbines and make sure there aren’t any more lurking around.”

“Good. That’s good.” Bucky sighs, wincing as pain shoots through his chest again. His head doesn’t feel too good either.

Steve shifts. “Guess I can get off you now. Just, don’t move, all right?” 

But Bucky reaches out and grabs Steve, possibly a little too hard, and Steve stills. “You can stay.” 

It’s a little ridiculous, Steve crouching over Bucky, but Steve doesn’t even question him, just sits lightly back down on Bucky’s thighs. “Okay.”

Bucky breaths out a little sigh of relief, and relaxes under Steve’s weight. But the drag of his left arm shoots a flash of pain through his chest, and he’s got to know. “So what’s the story with my arm?”

“Tony and Bruce say the neural connections got messed up. But they think they can fix it.”

Bucky’s head pounds harder. “They _think_ they can fix it? They’re not sure?”

“Tony called T’Challa’s docs right away, wanted one of them to fly out here. He figured that’s what you’d want. But T’Challa doesn’t want his people to leave Wakanda. He did offer to send a plane for you, fly you back there for the surgery. But if we do that, it’s going to be at least sixteen hours before they can get started.”

Sixteen hours seems like a long time. “I take it you don’t think it’s a good idea to wait?”

“Bruce is worried about it. There could be permanent nerve damage if the pressure on the nerves isn’t relieved soon. He also doesn’t like how close the bullet is to your…” Steve looks up, as if he’s got an invisible notepad, “I don’t know, some important part of the heart muscle. Guess they’re probably all important.” Steve rubs the back of his neck. “And he thinks it might not be safe to fly, with the changes in pressure and all the movement. He can explain better, but no, he doesn’t think you should wait.” 

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. The idea of letting strangers cut him open is not particularly appealing, especially strangers who he not so long ago tried to kill. Tony’s been nice and all, but accepting a fancy gun from him is a lot different than letting him get near his heart with a scalpel.

“Tony and Bruce got the schematics of your new arm from T’Challa. They’ve been studying them for the past three hours.” Steve touches Bucky’s face, holds his gaze. “You can trust them, Bucky. They’re not going to hurt you.”

“Worse comes to worse, Bruce will fish the bullet out of your chest with his delicate fingers, and I blow it when it comes to your arm,” Tony says, coming into the room. Bucky wonders how much of the conversation he heard.

“But at least then we can take you back to Wakanda without risking your life,” Steve says, his voice low and tight. Bucky doesn’t have to ask Steve what he thinks he should do – it’s as clear as the concern in his eyes.

“Give us a chance, Barnes,” Tony says. “I fucked it up. Let me fix it.”

“What do you mean, you fucked it up?”

Bucky’s expecting Tony to say he hadn’t done enough in the fight last night, had missed some critical shot that would have taken out the Hydra agent that shot him, but that’s not the direction Tony’s headed. 

“The bullet should never have touched you. But it found its way in at the edge of your gear, entered your body right at the place where the vibranium is attached to your chest. It’s my fault.”

“Tony,” Steve says, “that doesn’t make it your fault.” 

Tony shrugs. He’s going for casual, but Bucky can tell he’s upset. “Should have anticipated it. The armor wasn’t good enough.”

“I liked it,” Bucky says, trying to catch Tony’s eyes. Bucky hadn’t missed the fact that the gear Tony gave him still left his metal arm completely uncovered, and he liked it that way. The arm itself didn’t need any protection, and he kind of enjoyed having it visible when he was fighting. For all the trouble it gave him, it was damn intimidating in a fight. It had never occurred to Bucky that it left him vulnerable.

“Anyway, long story short, you got hurt. But Bruce and I can help, if you let us.” Tony’s dark eyes are serious. “What do you say?”

Bucky stares at Tony. He’s so much like his father, sometimes. Other times, not so much.

Bucky thinks this is one of those other times, as Tony whips off his t-shirt and points to the deep, round scar in the middle of his own chest.

“I’ve got some personal experience with having a machine connected to my body. A cybernetic arm’s not much different. Wakanda used better materials than your old arm, improved the neural connections, increased the arm’s responsiveness and finessed the structure. But it’s not magic, Barnes. It’s just science. Bruce and I can handle it.”

Bucky feels Steve squeeze his hand, and he pushes his panic away and tries to focus. He supposes it doesn’t much matter, really. It’s just an arm, he’s lost worse. If Tony can’t fix it, he’ll manage without it. If Tony decides to let the knife slip, to finish off the monster who tried to kill him, who killed his parents… well, it’s out of his control.

“Okay, fine,” Bucky says, closing his eyes. “Do it.” He feels Steve climb off him, and immediately misses his touch, until he reminds himself he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need anyone.

He can hear Bruce come into the room and talk to Tony, feels a needle slide into his arm. Bruce is talking to him, but he stops listening, just nods when it seems necessary. Gonna have to knock him out, they don’t have the right kind of equipment to keep him still if it’s not general anesthesia. Risk of cardiac arrest, risk of brain damage, risk of paralysis. It’s a goddamn buffet of risk, not that it matters. 

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice is insistent. “Bucky, hey, look at me.”

He opens his eyes and sees Steve looking intently at him. He turns his head away to avoid his gaze, but he can’t go far, and Steve crouches down and puts his fingers gently on Bucky’s cheek.

“Bucky, you’re gonna be okay. I’ll be right here, all right? I’m not going anywhere. I’ll make sure you’re okay.”

He doesn’t feel okay, and Steve isn’t helping. It’s too hard to let go, to not care, with Steve looking at him like that. He closes his eyes. 

“Bucky, you’re gonna be all right,” Steve repeats insistently. He’s leaning close to Bucky’s face, and Bucky grabs on to Steve’s shirt with his hand, the iv in his arm twinging painfully. He wants to be all right, but it never seems to work out that way for him. Steve strokes his hair, presses their cheeks together. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m scared,” Bucky breathes out, and Steve holds him tighter, rubs his nose against Bucky’s skin.

“I know, pal. I’m scared too.”

Steve has to stand up, then, as Bruce peels the bandage off Bucky’s chest, but he stays close, keeps his hand resting on Bucky’s shoulder. Tony’s carrying in tools which would look right at home in an automotive shop. Bucky thinks about what’s going to happen, and starts to shiver. He presses his eyes closed; it might be better if he doesn’t see anything else.

“Hey, Bucky,” Steve starts again, stroking a finger along Bucky’s cheek. “You ever been to Aquinnah?”

Bucky blinks his eyes back open, confused.

“It’s at the westernmost point here on the island. There’s a lighthouse up on a cliff. It’s gorgeous there.”

“A lighthouse?” Bucky stutters out. He has no idea why Steve is talking about lighthouses. Maybe the anesthesia has already taken hold, and he’s dreaming.

“Yeah. We should go there tonight. See the sunset – the view is amazing. Apparently the place is packed in the summer. When the sun goes down, people come from all over to see it.” Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his own, rubs his thumb over the thin skin of his wrist. 

“We can get dinner too,” Steve goes on, undeterred by Bucky’s lack of response. “The restaurant there is pretty casual, really just a fancy snack bar. But their fish and chips is the best I’ve ever had.”

“It’s the batter,” Bruce says, wheeling a tray of surgical instruments into the room. Bucky drags his eyes up from the sharp objects and sees Bruce looking softly back at him. “Comes out crisp on the outside, but tender on the inside.” 

“You’re gonna love it, Buck. The colors on the water as the sun goes down… it’s really something.” Steve strokes his hair again, and Bucky wants to memorize the feeling of his touch, keep it forever. Hold on to it, even if he doesn’t wake up right, if the anesthesia resets his brain or steals his memories, if any of the possibilities that haunt his nightmares come to pass.

“I don’t know why we’re talking about sunsets,” Bucky whispers to Steve. But his chest feels warm, and it doesn’t have anything to do with the bullet currently making a home there.

“I’m asking you out on a date, dummy,” Steve whispers back, his breath tickling Bucky’s neck. “What do you say? Don’t leave a guy hanging.”

Bucky tries to focus on Steve, but Bruce has come up close to him, ready to strap an oxygen mask over his face. Bucky thinks for a moment that he can’t do it, he can’t let them do this to him, put him to sleep and cut him open and god knows what else. But then Steve gives his hand a squeeze and draws Bucky’s attention back to the blue oceans of his eyes. Bucky imagines sitting with him on a rocky cliff, leaning together against the chill of the wind, no one there but the two of them. It’s hard to want things. It means he has to care. He has to try. But Bucky thinks it will be worth it.

So Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to calm the fears swirling in his mind. He musters what little faith he has in the world and smiles at Steve. He can do this.

“It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the kudos and comments - they really mean a lot to me!
> 
> And if you are a fic writer too, please tell me and let me know where to find your stories, I would love to read them!


	9. Chapter 9

After Bucky wakes up from the surgery, Tony has barely finished having Bucky test out the completed repairs to his arm when Steve says it’s time to go. Bucky doesn’t know what he’s talking about at first. His brain is still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia.

“Sunset’s early in wintertime.” Steve’s got a dark blue parka on, and he’s practically bouncing on his toes.

Bruce and Tony turn to Steve with such twin expressions of disbelief that Bucky sputters out a laugh – followed quickly by a groan, as his hand moves to press against the new bandage on his chest.

“Buck, are you okay?” Steve is at his side in an instant. “Bruce, is he okay? Why’s he in pain? What’s wrong?”

Bruce looks like he’s trying not to laugh himself. “He took a bullet, Steve, and then had major surgery.”

“And his arm’s likely to have some nerve sensitivity for a little while, while the connections heal,” Tony adds.

Bucky sits up carefully and lets his legs hang over the side of the bed. He flinches when Tony runs a finger down his metal arm, but it’s reassuring how naturally it responds. Of course Tony notices, and grins. “Not bad, right?”

Bucky ignores him. He has the feeling he’s going to let Tony play with his arm again sometime, but not today. He turns instead to Steve, who is standing like a chastened golden retriever at his side.

“Maybe we can go the lighthouse tomorrow?” Bucky suggests. “Doc, that sound okay?”

Bruce nods. “I’d like to check on you again in the morning, but you’ll probably feel a lot better by then.” Bruce heads towards the door, then grabs Tony’s arm and tugs him along with him. They close the door behind them, Tony giving them a little wave over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve says when they’re alone. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t think. Do you want me to go, let you get some rest?”

Bucky looks at Steve, who’s gone from delighted to disappointed in sixty seconds flat, and his heart swells. “Come here, you.” He uses his good arm to pull Steve close, then wraps it around him and holds him tight. “You said you weren’t going anywhere.”

He can feel Steve’s cheeks stretch into a smile as Steve tucks his face into his neck. They stay like that for a few long moments, Steve relaxing against his body, his hands coming up to smooth up and down his bare back. The pressure is rhythmic, and soothing, and it makes Bucky smile.

“You know who I think you’d like?”

Steve steps back, his hands sliding to Bucky’s waist. “Who?”

“Mittens.”

“Are you inviting me back to your place?” Steve says with a hint of a smile.

Bucky tugs at the hem of Steve’s t-shirt to straighten it back out. “Unless that’s too forward of me.” 

It takes far too long, in Bucky’s opinion, to make their way out of the safe house. Natasha has returned, and she wants to crow over every highlight of the night before, only settling down after Bruce makes her a milkshake – it’s hard to talk and drink one of Bruce’s extra thick milkshakes at the same time.

Tony is adamant that Bucky keep detailed notes on how his arm is working, although Bucky puts this to rest by agreeing to let him have a few hours to examine it once his incision has healed. 

Steve finds Bucky a light blue button-up shirt that’s easier to get on with the ache in his chest (one of Steve’s, Bucky assumes – it makes him feel a little bit like a librarian, but it’s soft, and smells good, so he’s got no objection) and he pulls on the spare pair of jeans Natasha packed for him (yesterday? The day before? He’s not sure he cares anymore). There’s a conversation about weapons which ends with Steve throwing all but one in Bucky’s duffel, as Bucky’s favorite knife goes exactly where it belongs, in Bucky’s boot.

Finally, they’re out of the house. The ride in Steve’s truck is bumpy, and Bucky tries not to let on how much it hurts. He closes his eyes, and surprises himself by drifting off, waking up only when Steve turns off the engine.

By the time they walk up the long drive to Nora’s house and Steve helps him inside, Bucky is frankly exhausted. Steve can tell, and he settles him on one of the soft white couches in the spacious living room, insisting on pulling off his boots and tucking a blanket around him. Then Steve wanders away to feed the cats and water the plants while Bucky dozes. Mittens does in fact appear, meowing her displeasure at Bucky’s extended absence, and then curling up next to him and purring like an engine.

Bucky wakes up to find a plate with a grilled cheese sandwich on the coffee table next to him, and it smells so good his stomach immediately starts to growl. He’s almost finished it off by the time Steve returns with drinks for them both and another plate for himself.

Steve smiles shyly at him, and then pushes the other sandwich on to Bucky’s plate.

“Don’t you want one?” Bucky asks, chewing.

“I forgot how much you like them, although I should have known by the amount of cheese you’ve got in your fridge,” Steve says, a laugh in his voice. “When’s the last time you ate, pal?”

Bucky shrugs. “No idea. I’m not even sure what day it is.”

“I’ll make more.” Steve goes back into the kitchen and after a minute Bucky hauls himself up off the couch and follows him, half-empty plate in his hand. He perches himself on a stool at the kitchen island and watches as Steve butters more slices of bread and peels the cheese out of its plastic wrappers. It’s like a scene from a movie, sitting here in this fancy kitchen with Steve, watching him prepare food on the black granite countertops. He looks out the glass doors to the balcony and watches the distant whitecaps on the water, then turns his attention back to the food. 

“You know, I think I’ve still got some bacon,” Bucky says, finishing off his second grilled cheese. “Tomatoes, too.”

Steve pauses and tilts his head at Bucky. “You’re not satisfied with plain cheese?”

“What can I say,” Bucky says lightly. “I’m a complex guy.”

Steve snorts and opens the refrigerator. After a few minutes, half a pound of bacon is frying, and Steve is deftly cutting a tomato into perfect round slices.

Mittens jumps up on the kitchen island, and Steve looks at Bucky in mild astonishment as he gives her a thorough cuddling, the cat twisting and turning to rub her chin on Bucky’s hand.

“So I guess you’re a cat person now?” Steve asks, turning the bacon and frowning as it spatters.

“It’s their house,” Bucky replies. “If they want to walk on the counters, who am I to object?” Bucky plucks a piece of bacon from the pan (he doesn’t like it if it gets too crispy) and takes a bite. Then he breaks off a little bit for Mittens, who sniffs it a few times and then runs away as if it offended her.

“Why doesn’t she like bacon?” Steve asks, adding a few strips to the cheese sandwiches he has assembled. 

“No idea.”

“But – isn’t that why she came over? Because she smelled it?”

Bucky grins at Steve. “It doesn’t pay to think too hard about why they do what they do.”

“If you say so.”

After they finish their little feast, Bucky excuses himself to the bathroom. Being with Steve like this feels good, but it’s overwhelming, and he needs a few minutes to himself. It’s the first time he’s eaten a home cooked meal with Steve in decades, and yet it seems as natural as breathing. He can remember them messing around in the apartment they shared after Steve’s ma died, heating soup on their tiny stove, laughing and happy even though they hardly had enough to fill their stomachs. 

Bucky pushes harder at the memory, thinks about other times they spent together in that apartment, Steve so sick during the winters Bucky worried he’d never get better. Bucky curling up around him in bed, trying to soothe Steve’s breathing with the rhythm of his own. There are other, more intimate moments, the two of them pressed together for decidedly non-medical reasons; he hasn’t let himself dwell on those memories, not wanting to let himself hope, not wanting to influence whatever might happen _now_ with nostalgic memories of _then._ But Bucky’s starting to think maybe _now_ is going to turn out okay.

Bucky splashes some water on his face and winces at the pain in his chest. He unbuttons his shirt and pokes around the wound, peeling the bandage off to look at the stitches, black against his pale skin. It makes him squirm to think about the bullet sliding in right at the spot where the vibranium meets his flesh; he’s got thick scars there already, and a low-level discomfort which comes and goes. He can’t imagine this is going to make it feel any better.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been in there until Steve knocks on the door.

“Everything okay?”

Bucky hesitates, his shirt still open, but then he mentally shrugs to himself and opens the door. It’s not anything Steve hasn’t already seen up close and personal over the past twenty-four hours. “Just surveying the damage.”

Steve presses his lips together and nods. “Want me to get that ointment Bruce gave you?”

“I’m gonna heal fine anyway.”

Steve frowns. “Doesn’t look like you really healed fine before. Maybe it’ll help.” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to agree, and soon comes back with the tube of antibiotic ointment. Steve washes his hands, and then unscrews the tube. He’s about to squeeze it out on to his fingers when Bucky shakes himself out of his daze.

“Steve, I can do that myself.”

Steve pauses, then nudges at Bucky’s good shoulder until he sits down on the toilet seat. “All the times you patched me up when we were kids… let me take care of you, okay?”

Bucky’s not really sure he sees the connection, but he's not inclined to argue. If Steve wants to poke at his scary scars, might as well let him. “Fine.” 

Steve touches him so gently, Bucky hardly feels it as he spreads the medicine over the stitches. “Does it hurt?” Steve asks softly.

“Well, yeah, I got shot.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at him in mock annoyance, and Bucky thinks Natasha would be proud. 

“Before that,” Steve says.

Bucky hesitates, wondering how much to say, but decides to go with the truth. “Yeah. Inside, it’s connected to my bones, you know? It’s not the arm that hurts, mostly, it’s where it’s attached. But it’s a lot better now, with this new one.”

That sad look flashes over Steve’s face, but it’s gone almost before Bucky can register it, replaced with acceptance and, perhaps, determination.

“I bet Tony could fix it so it doesn’t hurt.”

Bucky smiles. “You have a lot of faith in people.”

Steve shrugs. “Some people.” 

Steve tapes a clean bandage on Bucky’s chest, and puts everything away neatly in the little wound care kit Bruce gave him. His eyes slide back to Bucky’s shoulder, still covered by his shirt.

“You kept the star.”

Bucky had wondered if Steve had noticed, during the whole surgery mess, that where he used to have a red star on his shoulder, he had asked T’Challa for a slightly different symbol. T’challa had suggested a white one, like the one on Steve’s shield, but…

“Why blue?” Steve asks.

“Didn’t want to be too matchy-matchy,” Bucky says, and his chest warms as Steve grins in delight.

Steve holds a hand out to Bucky, who sways on his feet as he stands up.

“Woah there,” Steve says softly, catching him around the waist. Bucky feels lightheaded, and lets Steve steady him, ducking his head to rest against Steve’s shoulder. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed.”

Going upstairs seems like an awful lot of trouble, especially when Steve is holding him so sweetly, hands pressed against his back. But sleeping on his feet doesn’t sound like much fun either.

Steve helps him up the stairs, and Bucky knows he’s still feeling the effects of the surgery when he can barely bring himself to protest as Steve rummages through his drawers. It's not like he has much in there.

“Better get Tony to get you some pajama pants,” Steve mutters. “What do you wear to sleep in, anyway?”

Bucky rolls his eyes at Steve, and then laughs as a light pink blush spreads across Steve’s face. “I don't usually have to worry about flashing anyone,” Bucky says, ignoring the sharp twinge in his chest as he strips out of his jeans. His shirt is still unbuttoned so it’s easy enough to shrug it off, and then he climbs into bed, hoping his tight black briefs are at least partially making up for the scars and metal arm. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Buck,” Steve says, his voice low. Apparently the scars and metal arm aren’t a deal breaker.

Steve takes a deep breath, and stands up taller, almost resetting himself. “Okay, well, you’ve got your phone up here, right? So, you know, call me if you want me – need me – need anything, I mean, I can come back over in the morning. I’ll bring Bruce, he can check you out-”

 _Bruce_ isn’t going to be the one checking me out, Bucky thinks with a smirk, as Steve rambles on. 

“Nope,” Bucky says firmly, and Steve stops talking and stares at him. “No way.”

“No way what? You don’t want me to come over in the morning?” Steve looks like he’s bracing himself for bad news.

“No way are you putting me to bed in the middle of the afternoon and abandoning me,” Bucky says, keeping his voice light. “Even the cats aren’t ready to go to sleep yet, and they sleep twenty hours a day.”

A goofy smile spreads across Steve’s face as he realizes what Bucky is saying, and his posture relaxes.

“Well, you just gonna stand there?” Bucky asks, flopping open the blanket in invitation. “We can watch Netflix on this tv, you know. There are so many options. You ever seen _Firefly_?”

Steve undoes his khakis, pulls off his socks, and climbs into bed in his t-shirt and boxers, his blush back and deeper than before. When Bucky gives him a pointed look, he just shrugs. “If you don’t have to wear pajamas, I don’t have to,” he mutters.

Bucky grins. “Now you’re getting the picture.”

They’re not cuddling, exactly; they could just be friends who don’t have much concern for personal space, and don’t feel the need to wear pants. But Steve’s elbow keeps bumping Bucky’s good arm as he eats his popcorn, and when Steve leans over to grab his drink from the night table Bucky pokes him in the side and makes him jump. 

Bucky holds his tongue for two whole episodes of _Firefly_ before he starts to point out all the ways Steve is just like Captain Reynolds, with his tight pants and his righteous nature, and Steve lets him get away with it for a while before he starts to retaliate.

“Well, if I’m the Captain, then who are you?” Steve asks. “Wash, maybe? He’s got a decent sense of humor.”

“I am not Wash,” Buck protests. Wash, the pilot, is certainly not the most best-looking of the group. Bucky can’t see any resemblance whatsoever.

“Maybe Jayne?” 

“Jayne’s an idiot.” Played by Adam Baldwin, so not bad looking, but still.

“Persistent, though.” Steve says. He’s looking sideways at Bucky, and clearly trying to rile him.

“You’re still wrong.” Bucky watches a scene with Captain Reynolds and his second in command, the fiercest fighter on the ship. “If I’m anyone, I’m Zoe.”

Steve turns to Bucky. “She fought with the Captain in the war, before they were on this spaceship together, right?”

Bucky nods. “Right.” He picks a piece of popcorn out of the blanket next to him. “She’s loyal to a fault, when it comes to the Captain. She’ll do anything for him.”

“And she’s sexy as hell,” Steve says, almost absently.

Bucky’s suddenly a lot less interested in his popcorn, but Steve is looking straight ahead at the television, keeping up the tease. Bucky calls his bluff, going back to watching the show in silence, and grins as he sees Steve break, darting a glance at Bucky to see if he noticed his comment.

“You think I’m sexy,” Bucky finally says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s hardly news.” Steve sounds almost resigned.

It emboldens Bucky, though, and he lets the words slip out. “You asked me on a date.” He’s pretty sure it wasn’t a dream, although he hasn’t been able to find a way to ask about it.

“You said yes.”

Bucky’s heart skips a beat. “I did.” 

Steve’s still staring straight ahead, holding the same kernel of popcorn he’s had in his hand since he called Bucky sexy. Bucky shuffles a little closer to Steve and lays his head on his shoulder. He can feel Steve tense and then relax, moving his hand just close enough to Bucky that his knuckles are touching his thigh.

It reminds Bucky so clearly of _before_ that he’s nearly bowled over by it. Back then, they treasured every touch, knowing that blatant displays of affection weren’t in the cards for them, except on the rarest of occasions. It hadn’t mattered much; they learned to convey their feelings for each other in barely there gestures and fleeting moments. It means just as much now as it did then.

Two more episodes and a half gallon of ice cream later, Bucky is dozing when Steve leans over and drops a barely there kiss on his head.

“Buck?” Steve whispers. “I should probably go.”

Bucky reaches out in Steve’s direction with his eyes still closed, and winds up bumping his hand along Steve’s chest before he grabs his shoulder. “Stay.”

He can feel Steve’s startled inhale, hears the way he controls his breath as he lets it back out. He blinks his eyes open and finds Steve’s in the dim light.

“You sure?” Steve asks, voice steady.

“’Course I’m sure.” Bucky moves closer, slides his arm up under the pillowcase and lays his head on Steve’s ridiculously built chest. His t-shirt is soft – must be from getting stretched out by those muscles all day long. “If it’s okay with you.”

Steve practically giggles, as if not wanting to cuddle Bucky is the silliest thought in the world, and wraps his arm around Bucky. “Yeah, I think it’s okay. I’m pretty sure, anyway. I’ll test it out, let you know.”

“Shhh, I’m sleepy.” Bucky noses in against Steve’s neck and breathes deeply. 

Steve lets out a contented sigh. “You’re the best, Bucky.”

 _Love you too, Steve,_ Bucky thinks as he drifts off. _Love you too._


	10. Chapter 10

When Bucky wakes up, Steve is gone. In his place on the bed are Mittens and Miss Kitty, doing their matching cat loaf routine and staring lazily at Bucky. Bucky’s phone is between them, and when it vibrates, Miss Kitty sticks out a delicate orange striped paw as if she’s going to answer it.

“Uh-uh, not for you.” Bucky says. He’s got a string of texts, mostly from Steve, and they immediately make him smile.

_Sorry I had to leave – needed to go somewhere with Natasha._

_”Somewhere” meaning the ice rink Hydra base with the robot windmills_ Steve continues. _It’s all shot to hell. Wonder who did that?_

_Didn’t want to go, though. Wanted to stay in bed with you._

After this is a series of little faces, a whole range of emotions, followed by a line of ten happy faces in a row.

Bucky can feel his smile stretching his cheeks, and he scoops Mittens up into his lap and rubs her chin, wanting to pass on the feeling.

Steve left his last text about an hour ago, but Natasha’s is more recent.

_Steve didn’t know which emoji was the happy one until you showed up. Good work, Barnes._

Bucky’s feeling pretty happy himself, and he lounges around in bed, playing with the cats. Miss Kitty likes it when he moves his feet around under the blanket; she’s ferocious when she wants to be, a little striped dynamo. Mittens, however, just wants to be stroked and complimented. Bucky doesn’t mind; he can multitask.

Eventually his phone buzzes with another text. Dr. Banner – Bruce – wants to know if it’s a good time to come over and check on him. Bucky figures playing footsie with Miss Kitty isn’t a good reason to put him off, so he texts back the all clear.

An hour later, he’s sitting at the kitchen island with Bruce, who is quietly finishing his cup of coffee. Bucky’s getting used to Bruce’s manner – the man is a sea of calm, and it’s restful to be around him. Still, he feels that itchy need to fill the silence.

“So, what kind of doctor are you? I mean, do you have a specialty, aside from patching up Avengers?”

Bruce quirks an eyebrow at him. “I’m a nuclear physicist.”

Bucky blinks at him. It’s not what he was expecting Bruce to say. “Um, really?”

Bruce laughs softly. “Really. But don’t worry, I brushed up on emergency medicine, too, with a focus on enhanced biology. Once I started my superhero patching up practice.”

“You… brushed up on emergency medicine.” Seems a little casual, for someone who sticks sharp things inside living bodies.

“Don’t worry. I promise, my surgical skills can’t be faulted.” Bucky is reminded of Tony for a moment, his surety when it comes to his talents. “When Coulson tries to get me to psychoanalyze you guys, though…” Bruce continues, leaning his chin on his hand, “that’s a whole different path of study.”

Bucky’s stomach drops. “Is that why you’re here? To psychoanalyze me?” 

“No, god, no,” Bruce says, his face falling. “I’m just here to check on your health – physical health.” Bruce stands up and puts his medical kit on the counter. “Unless, um, you need to talk to someone? Because I’m sure we can find someone for you-”

Bucky wants to deflect, but he figures Bruce is being sincere, so he might as well be, too. “I think I’m good for now. Maybe at some point.”

Bruce nods, as if Bucky has passed some test, despite the fact that Bruce denied being there to give one. “Okay.”

Bucky gets off the stool and takes off his t-shirt. It doesn’t even hurt when he pulls it off over his head, except for a dull ache at the site of the wound.

He stands still as Bruce carefully peels off the tape holding the bandage to his chest. Bucky keeps his gaze focused over Bruce’s shoulder, out the window at the gray sky. 

“Amazing,” Bruce says. Bucky thinks he doesn’t even realize he said it. “Is it okay if I touch you?” Bruce asks.

“Sure.”

Bruce palpitates the area around the wound, then runs a finger over the now healed incision. “Any pain?”

“Hardly at all, today.”

Bruce nods. “Did the doctors in Wakanda figure anything out about what kind of serum you were given?”

“Not that they told me.”

“Well, the healing properties seem to be almost as good as Steve’s. It’s really incredible. You’re awfully lucky.”

Bucky scoffs, and Bruce looks at him, concerned. “I meant with regard to your ability to heal. But Bucky… no matter what you’ve gone through, I’d say you’ve had some good fortune lately.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He’s actually had the same thought himself, but he’s not used to thinking of himself as fortunate. It’s too hard to square with all the crap that has happened to him.

“I know the team was lucky to have you there when the turbines attacked.”

“They would have been fine without me. I’m just another gun.”

Bruce sits down on a stool and closes his med kit back up. “How much do you remember about the fight?”

Bucky shrugs. “We were all there, taking down the Hydra goons, and then the turbines started moving.”

“What happened next?”

Bucky pauses, and Bruce reaches out a hand to touch his arm. “It’s okay if you don’t remember what happened right before you fell. It’s not unusual, with a trauma like that.”

“I fell?” No wonder Steve was so worried. Way to go, Buck.

“Right after you were shot. But Tony caught you. Right after you disabled every single one of the militarized turbines.” 

Bucky closes his eyes. He does sort of remember running down the rafters between the turbines, but it’s kind of a blur. He thinks back to when he first saw the turbines move, and Natasha said she’d go look for the control booth.

And then, with a sick wave of panic, he remembers seeing the man through his scope, mouthing the word that had nearly stolen his mind.

“Bucky? You okay?”

Bucky shoves himself off the stool and runs into the bathroom, barely making it there in time before emptying his stomach into the toilet. Shit, shit, shit. How could he forget? His fucking useless mind, betraying him yet again. It’s a good thing he didn’t go to work with Steve and Natasha today, when any idiot with a Winter Soldier instruction book can send him right back into assassin-land.

“Bucky?” Bruce is standing at the door to the bathroom, one hand on the frame, then other reaching out towards Bucky. “What’s wrong?” 

“I remembered something from the fight,” Bucky says. He doesn’t want to tell Bruce – doesn’t want to tell anyone. But he doesn’t know else what to do. Keeping it to himself will only put everyone in more danger. 

A misplaced look of sympathy comes over Bruce’s face – he probably thinks Bucky is having some kind of reaction to memories of killing innocent people – and Bucky wishes it were only that.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, and Bucky can tell he means it. “Do you, um, do you want to talk about it?”

So much for not being the Avenger’s in-house shrink. Just as Bucky is about to open his mouth and ruin Bruce’s day, however, Bruce’s phone pings. He pulls it out of his pocket and presses at it, frowning. 

“Problem?”

“I’ve got to go back to the safe house. Tony needs my help with something they found on site, some kind of energy weapon.” 

Bucky drags himself off the floor, and rubs his sweaty hands on his jeans. “Okay.”

“You sure you’ll be all right? You seemed pretty shaken up.” Bruce is looking at him intently, but Bucky is nothing if not skilled at hiding what he’s feeling. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky says. “Maybe just could use some more rest.” He won’t leave the house, not until he figures out what to do. At least the cats are unlikely to start speaking Russian to him. Bucky doesn’t think “meow” would be Hydra’s pick for a trigger word.

Bruce hesitates, as if he’s not sure whether to buy this or not, but in the end he just nods and takes his leave, patting Bucky awkwardly on the shoulder as he says goodbye.

Bucky’s last thought as Bruce walks to his car, unspoken, is _please don’t tell Steve I freaked out._

Bruce tells Steve.

**********

Of course, Bucky doesn’t know this until later in the afternoon. Because as soon as Bruce leaves the house, Bucky goes upstairs, brushes his teeth, and then takes a long shower, letting the water run until it goes cool and the vibranium starts to feel like a giant ice cube attached to his shoulder. He barely dries off, just pulls on a pair of briefs and gets back into bed. He turns his phone off. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone.

Knowing he can still be triggered is like finding out there’s a bomb set to activate in the middle of his chest. With one word from an enemy Bucky can lose himself again, and kill everyone around him in the process. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be an enemy – what if Natasha just started chatting in Russian, or he got sent overseas, or saw a Chekov play on television? Bucky’s life still isn’t his own, and it’s devastating.

He wishes pathetically that he and Steve had gone on that date already, that he would have that memory to take back into cryo with him. Because he doesn’t have any other options. He has to leave again. He can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it so clearly has gone all to shit.

He’s startled out of his misery spiral when a soft brush of fur tickles his nose. It’s Gracie, who starts inexplicably walking back and forth over his shoulders, her gray tail waving back and forth behind her. Finally she settles, curling up practically under Bucky’s chin. Dumb cat, he thinks, his eyes filling with tears. She has no idea who she’s associating with.

Bucky finally falls into a fitful sleep, waking only when he hears Steve’s voice calling him from downstairs.

Shit, fuck, shit. How the hell did he get in here?

Bucky considers just burrowing under the covers and pretending he’s not home, and he gives it a try – he’s just pulled the blanket up over his head when Steve comes into the room.

“Bucky?” Steve asks. Bucky can hear his nervous breathing as he approaches the bed. “What’s wrong? You feeling okay?”

Bucky doesn’t answer. He’s not feeling okay, not in any possible definition of the word. But he doesn’t know how to tell Steve. Bucky’s been paying attention, these past few days. He knows how much Steve cares about him. And this? In addition to just screwing Bucky’s life up beyond repair, it’s going to break Steve’s heart.

The bed shifts as Steve sits down, and then lays next to Bucky on the bed. Steve slides over and wraps an arm around him, his firm chest pressed against Bucky’s back. “Whatever it is, Buck, it’s gonna be alright,” he whispers, and Bucky chokes out a sob.

“It’s not. It’s never going to be alright.”

Steve holds him tighter, wraps a leg around his calf. “Tell me what happened, Buck. Let me help you.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“Try me.”

Bucky presses his forehead into Steve’s arm, wishing he had the strength to push it off, to stand up and deal with this with some measure of dignity, instead of crying into Steve’s sleeve. He should never have started thinking he could have a normal life.

“Bruce said it had something to do with the fight at the Hydra base?” Steve tries again. “I’ve been texting you all day, but you didn’t answer. I should have come over sooner. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, and tries to tell Steve he shouldn’t be sorry, but all that comes out is more tears.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve says, pressing a kiss into Bucky’s hair. “You can cry, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

And so Bucky cries, cries for the life he came so close to having, and for the light in Steve’s eyes that’s going to fade again. Steve just holds him, and pets his hair, and whispers sweet words. 

Finally Bucky draws in a deep breath, then another, and flops himself around on the bed until he’s facing Steve, who takes one look at his face and hands him a pile of tissues. Bucky wipes his face, and then exhales slowly, finding Steve’s gaze.

“During the fight, one of the guys said something in Russian. A trigger word. I…” Bucky stops and gulps down another breath, his eyes leaving Steve’s and dropping closed against the pain. “I didn’t remember it until this morning, when Bruce asked me about the fight. But the word almost held me. I fought it off, but… it affected me. I’m not fixed.”

He can’t look at Steve, but he can hear his breath speed up as he wraps his arms around Bucky again. “We’ll figure it out. It’s okay,” Steve repeats, but the confidence has gone out of his voice.

“You don’t get it, Steve,” Bucky says, as gently as he can. “The docs in Wakanda thought they fixed me. But they didn’t. There’s nothing else to be done.”

“Don’t say that.” Steve’s words are rushed and edgy with panic.

“I’ve been going round and round on this all day, Steve. Cryo’s the only option.”

Steve sits up, and the abrupt loss of the comfort of his arms around Bucky is jarring. “Since when have you been such a coward?” 

“A… what?”

“You heard me.” Steve’s eyes are flashing with anger. “You never used to run from a fight, Bucky – damn it, you ran into mine all the time, even when you didn’t have to. Why the hell would you run from this?”

Bucky slides away from Steve on the bed, out of reach of his wildly gesturing arms. “I’m not running, Steve, I’m accepting facts-”

“You are running. You’re running away because it’s hard, and you’re worried you might not be able to get past it, and you’re scared…” Steve trails off, his hand coming up to press against his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Steve, I am. I don’t want to go-”

“Then don’t,” Steve says bitterly, looking up at him. “Stay, and fight it. Fight for your life, Bucky.” Steve’s voice drops, and he looks down at his knees. “Fight for us.”

There’s a lump in his throat so big Bucky thinks sound won’t come out, so he just wraps his arms around Steve and hugs him tight. Steve is stiff, angry, but Bucky hangs on, and eventually Steve leans into him.

“Please, Bucky,” Steve chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Say you’ll try. At least give us a chance, you and me. We can talk with the team, you know everyone will help you. Let us try to figure something out.”

It goes against all his instincts, to stay with Steve when he could end up hurting him, or worse. But maybe Steve’s right; maybe he needs to give Steve and his group of crazy-smart friends a shot at fixing his broken brain. Maybe he needs to trust Steve, the way Steve has trusted him all this time.

“Okay.”

**********

To Bucky’s utter humiliation and dismay, Steve decides that the best way to address Bucky’s problem is to set up a conference call with Coulson and all the Avengers. Steve delivers this proposal while Bruce is stir-frying vegetables and tofu for dinner at the safe house, Natasha and Tony taking turns picking vegetables out of the pan and drinking beer.

“Wait, what?” Tony says, turning to look at Bucky, who is sitting at the kitchen table with Steve, trying to portray innocence and apple pie and _no I’m definitely not a Russian terrorist._ “You hulked out during the battle with the robot windmills? I didn’t see you hulk out.”

“I don’t think you should call it that,” Bruce says absently. “Although ‘winter soldier’d’ is kind of a mouthful.”

“I fought it off,” Bucky says uncomfortably. “Pushed it away, or something.”

“How long did it take?” Natasha has appeared at his elbow. She’s got a curiously intense look on her face, like Bucky is the most interesting puzzle she’s seen all year.

“How long?”

“Yeah. And what did it feel like?”

Bucky tries to remember, and briefly feels like he’s going to throw up again. “It was fast. Clint was talking to me, and I almost blacked out for a second, but then I heard him talking; I came to and took out the turbine that was coming closer to us.”

“So it really threw you off your game,” Tony says, smirking. “You only took out _all_ the turbines, instead of all the turbines.”

“Cut it out, Tony, this isn’t funny,” Steve says.

Natasha slides a chair over next to Bucky and sits down, placing her beer on the table. “No, it’s not funny, but it might not be as bad as you think,” she says, pulling Bucky’s gaze back to her. “What was the word he used? You can write it down, if you don’t want to say it.”

“It was in Russian,” Bucky says, stupidly, and earns an eye roll from Natasha.

“I _know_ it was in Russian,” she says calmly. “Take out your phone. Text it to me.”

“What if-”

“In English. I’ll know what the Russian word is.”

Bucky keeps his eyes on Natasha as he fumbles for his phone. He’s not sure how she knew he didn’t want to say the word, doesn’t want to hear the sounds, in any language. But he’s grateful. And Steve has moved to stand right behind him, a comforting presence at his back. At least he’ll be there to stop him if Bucky gets triggered and tries to attack anyone.

Quickly, before he loses his nerve, Bucky texts Natasha. _Duty._

He sees Natasha’s eyes widen, and then she almost smiles at him, her face relaxing. “That’s what I thought.” She looks up at Steve. “Stand down. Lover-boy’s going to be fine.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky feels as if the room is spinning, only Steve’s hand on his shoulder holding him in place.

“It’s not a Winter Soldier program trigger word. It’s from the Red Room, one of the reminders they used on us. To keep our attention, if they thought we were straying from the path.”

“But if it brainwashes him, what’s the difference?” Tony asks.

“It won’t brainwash him – or me.” Natasha bumps her knee against Bucky’s. “Hey. It’s really going to be okay. I promise.”

“But… how?”

“You know I was Red Room, right?”

Bucky hadn’t really thought about it before, but it makes a horrible kind of sense; Natasha has the kind of skills that the Russian espionage training program boasts of. Then Natasha leans in and whispers to him, the beginning of a little nursery rhyme in Russian. _Ladybug, fly to the sky, bring me bread…_ Suddenly there’s a much younger face in front of him.

“Holy shit, I knew you,” Bucky breathes out, and it’s like another door has opened in his brain, memories cascading in. “I was there. I…” He looks down at his clasped hands, metal squeezing flesh, and hears Bruce shushing Tony and shuffling him away into the other room.

“I didn’t think you remembered,” Natasha says. “I didn’t know if I should remind you.” She looks uncharacteristically uncertain, worried for the first time about what Bucky might think of her.

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky says, and grabs at Steve’s hand on his shoulder, holding it there while he takes deep breaths. “Wow. Fuck.” He sees teenage Natasha, sparring on a mat, her trainer putting her through her paces. Bucky was there. “Every time I think I’ve got it figured out, there’s more.”

“It took me a long time to sort it out,” Natasha says matter of factly. “And I didn’t have all the other mindwipe crap to deal with like you did. But I can help you with the Red Room stuff.”

Bucky struggles with the memory, but can’t see much more than the gym, the girls… and himself, throwing them one by one as they come at him, small but fierce. “What was I there?”

“You were one of the good ones,” she says softly, putting a hand on his knee. “You didn’t hurt us. You helped us get strong.”

“It isn’t in my SHIELD file.”

Natasha shrugs. “It’s in mine. I’ll fill you in.”

“It won’t… bother you, to talk about all that? The trigger words, and…?” 

Natasha rolls her eyes. “If you had just come to me about this in the first place, you wouldn’t have had to spend all that time frozen in Wakanda. Classic dumb boy move, never know when to ask for help.”

Bucky is trembling, trying to come to terms with this new information. Steve curls around his back, holding him tight. “See?” Steve says. “I told you we’d figure something out.” Steve’s trying for a light tone, but he doesn’t quite get there.

“Jerk,” Bucky says, still clutching Steve’s hand, which is now pressing soothingly at his neck.

“Punk.”

“Well, while you guys are exchanging terms of endearment, I think I’ll see if anyone wants to go get pizza with me. I’m not really in the mood for stir-fry.”

“Wait, Natasha…”

“Tomorrow, Barnes. We’ll talk more tomorrow. There are only a handful of words, we’ll get you desensitized right away, no worries. In the meantime,” she says, raising her voice so that Tony and Bruce can hear – on the off chance they aren’t listening in from the other room already – “no one tease Bucky. Especially not in Russian. Or I’ll kick your ass.”

“What?” they hear Tony whine from the other room, apparently in response to something Bruce has said. “I’ll behave. Jeez. You guys must think I’m nuts – Natasha does not make empty threats.”

It’s only a moment before Natasha and the others have gone upstairs, to hunt for pizza or otherwise, and Steve and Bucky are left by themselves. Bucky wishes briefly that Natasha had stayed, a buffer between himself and the emotions that threaten to swamp him when he turns to look at Steve.

He knows he should say something to acknowledge what’s just happened, should thank Steve for not letting him run. For giving him his life back, for loving him enough to push him into confronting his fears. He’s so relieved he’s shaky with it – that and the fact that all he’s consumed since this morning was a cup of coffee, and even that didn’t stay down. It’s not a good time for any more deep thoughts.

“So,” he says, patting his hands on Steve’s knees, and then looking up at his blue eyes, so patient and kind, “do you think they’ll get pineapple? Because it turns out, it’s really good on pizza.”

Steve looks momentarily perplexed, and then grins. “I’ll text them. Natasha’s gonna be your best friend, you know.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be confused, thinking Steve’s talking about the Red Room again.

“She loves pineapple.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will only be 15 chapters, not 16 (let's pretend this is due to revisions, not a counting error...) Hope you are enjoying this - please leave me a comment and let me know! And be prepared for a bunch of chapters to post in the next few days, I want to get it all posted before I go on vacation next week. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Later that night, after the group returns to the safe house with boxes of pizza and cases of beer (and Clint, who they had somehow picked up along the way), Bruce catches Bucky in the kitchen as he’s putting a pile of paper plates into the garbage.

“Everything okay?” Bruce’s curly hair is messier than usual, probably from the way he’s been slouching on the couch next to Tony while they all watched a movie, some vaguely funny rom-com that thankfully doesn’t have any aliens or battle scenes. 

Bucky appreciates the question, in theory, but he’d managed to just relax for the past few hours, and he’s not really interested in getting into it again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bruce seems to get it, and nods. “Okay. But let me know if you ever want to talk. Not that Natasha doesn’t know what she’s doing – she does, she really does – but she can be a little…”

Bucky grins. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”

Turns out, it’s actually okay, Bucky thinks, as he goes back to his spot on the other couch next to Steve, Steve sending him a soft smile as he stretches his legs out and tucks his socked toes under Steve’s thigh. It’s okay that the entire team knows what he is. It’s necessary, really, for everyone’s safety. But it’s also surprisingly reassuring. They know what Bucky’s done, what’s been done to him, and they’re all still here, sitting in this basement room filled with empty pizza boxes and random bits of armor and weapons lined up against the back wall, hanging out with Bucky as if he was just another one of them. 

It’s better than he ever could have imagined. 

Several hours later, Natasha announces that she has more interesting things to do than watch another sappy movie, and heads upstairs to her bedroom. Steve cuts off the inevitable speculation about what she might actually be doing up there (“probably cleaning her knives in the nude,” Tony suggests. “Natasha likes to care for her weapons.”) but Clint apparently can’t stand the suspense, and follows her up the stairs.

Bruce and Tony have been sleeping in one of the guest bedrooms down the hall (“not the one we operated on you in, Barnes, that would be gross”) and they wander off, bickering about whether it’s supposed to snow during the night and if it does, whether Tony can shovel the driveway by flying around in his Iron Man suit just a few inches off the ground, or whether that would be too likely to blow their cover. (“You think?” Bruce comments snidely).

Bucky gets up from the couch and stretches, not missing how Steve sneaks a glance at him as his t-shirt pulls up over his stomach. He retrieves his flannel shirt from where he had tossed it when the room got warm, and slides it on, pleased that he doesn’t feel anything but the usual dull ache from where the metal arm connects with his skin. At least the whole bullet next to your heart drama had been resolved easily enough. Another perk of hanging out with people who are used to removing bullets from each other, he supposes.

He’s looking around the room for his shoes when he notices Steve standing by the stairs, hands shoved in the front pockets of his pants. He had put jeans on when they came over to the safe house, ditching the khakis he seems so fond of. Bucky had sent up a small thank you to whoever took him shopping (he’s guessing Natasha), because they fit Steve perfectly, hugging his ass in all the right places. Steve’s staring at the floor, face decidedly neutral.

“Steve? You okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Just tired.”

He’s lying, Bucky can tell. He’s practically got his show face on. But it’s been a long day, and Bucky isn’t going to push.

“Well, we should go. The cats get lonely without me.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “We?”

Warmth spreads through Bucky’s chest, and he smiles. So that’s what was bothering Steve. “Yeah, buddy. We.”

Steve ducks his head and smiles. “Okay. Just give me a minute to get my stuff.” Bucky wants to hug him, he’s so cute. 

Nora’s house feels colder than it should when they get there, and so Bucky spends a few minutes wandering around, checking the settings on the thermostats, and the boiler in the basement. He finally concludes that it’s just because of the wind and the increasingly cold temperatures outside. The back wall of the first floor has large open stretches of glass, in the living room and the kitchen, and isn’t the best at keeping the chill out.

Not surprisingly, the cats are nowhere to be found. They’re probably holed up somewhere warm, Bucky thinks. He’s looking forward to the same thing.

When he comes upstairs, Steve is freshly showered, emerging from the bathroom in a white tank and his red, white and blue plaid sleep pants. His hair is sticking up, and his skin is damp, the tank sticking to his chest in tantalizing ways.

Bucky’s mouth feels dry, and he nearly stumbles as he comes in to the room.

Steve looks up at him, and it’s as if the whole world drops away. All Bucky can see is Steve’s big blue eyes, so full of hope and love. He can tell something is about to happen only a breath before Steve closes the distance between them, Steve’s hand coming up to palm his cheek, and his lips meeting his in a tender kiss.

The kiss is slow, and sweet, and almost reverent. It’s entirely different from what Bucky remembers from the days before the war, or during, when their moments together were rushed, balanced between the pure enjoyment they took from each other’s bodies, and the underlying knowledge that it couldn’t last. That it wasn’t allowed, it couldn’t really be something that they had. 

Steve kisses him now like they have all the time in the world. 

Steve pulls back, their chests touching as he sucks in a breath, and searches for Bucky’s eyes. Bucky wants to say something, to reassure him that not only is this okay with him, it’s the very best thing in the entire world, but he can’t seem to remember any words so he just leans in for another kiss.

Steve’s lips are warm and full against his own, and Bucky lets his mouth fall open, a moan escaping from his throat as Steve nips at his bottom lip. Steve’s still cupping his face, his fingers brushing the scruff Bucky hasn’t bothered to shave for the past two days. Bucky’s hands are sliding up and down Steve’s sides, pushing up his tank top so he can feel Steve’s skin, damp and warm from his shower. Steve presses closer, and for a moment Bucky is overcome, swaying into Steve as if all his bones have turned to jelly.

Steve’s arms wrap around his shoulders, and Bucky feels him bury his nose in his hair. “Bucky,” Steve breathes out, and it’s the sound of Christmas morning, joyful and bright. 

They stand like that for a moment, Bucky’s nerves lit up like they’re on fire, until Steve moves back. He runs a hand down Bucky’s arm and squeezes his hand, never letting his eyes leave Bucky’s. “You want to get into bed?”

Bucky laughs at the ease with which the words come out of Steve’s mouth, although it’s obviously where they’re headed – it was the whole point of coming back to the house in the first place. He starts to strip off his clothes, and his breath stops in his chest as Steve stays next to him, taking his flannel and folding it up before laying it on the chair, helping Bucky pull his t-shirt off over his head, all the while gazing at him like Bucky’s a god damn work of art.

“You’re beautiful,” Steve breathes out, trailing his fingers down Bucky’s chest.

“Hardly,” Bucky replies, shivering at his touch.

“Don’t argue with me, I’m Captain America.” Steve gives him a grin that’s half tease, and half lust, and climbs up on to the bed. “Come here.”

Bucky follows him, and soon they’re tangled together, arms wrapped around each other and bodies pressing tight. Bucky’s still got his jeans on, and he’s about to get rid of them when Steve flips him on to his back, sliding his hands down Bucky’s arms and kneeling up to straddle him.

“Slow down,” Steve says, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Where’s the fire?”

Pretty much everywhere, Bucky thinks to himself, but he smiles at Steve and lets himself bask in the warmth of his gaze.

Steve goes back to kissing him, but only lingers briefly on his lips before starting his way down Bucky’s body. He rubs his freshly shaved cheek against Bucky’s scruff, then kisses down Bucky’s neck, pausing to lick and nibble behind his ear, and then down to his collarbone.

Bucky’s trying to stay calm, but his hands keep moving up and down under Steve’s shirt, feeling the movement of his muscles under his skin. Steve moves to Bucky’s chest. He stays away from Bucky’s now almost completely healed wound, licking and kissing down his right side. When his lips find Bucky’s nipple he pauses, completely aware of how he’s winding Bucky up, to nuzzle into him and then, slowly, start to lick and tease.

Bucky can’t hold still when Steve takes hold of his nipple and tugs, and his hips jerk up. Steve runs his hand down over Bucky’s hip, still working his nipple with his tongue, and then presses his palm over Bucky’s cock where it’s trapped in his pants.

“Holy crap, Steve, you’re gonna kill me,” Bucky pants.

“Not just yet,” Steve says, sitting up to look at him. His lips are red, his cheeks too, and he’s gorgeous. Before Bucky can come up with a response, Steve’s back at work, this time kissing down the other side of his chest.

“You’ll tell me if there’s anything you don’t like, right?” Steve has suddenly paused, his eyes finding Bucky’s, more serious now.

It’s the arm he’s worried about, Bucky knows. It’s not exactly centerfold material. 

“I’m good, Steve.”

Steve puts the flat of his hand on Bucky’s metal shoulder, slowly moves it down, his fingertips drawing along the edge where it is fused to his skin. “Does this hurt?”

“Not when you touch it. Just…” Bucky wishes they didn’t need to have this conversation, could just go back to kissing and working themselves into a frenzy, but he knows it needs to happen. “Just treat it regular. Like any other part of me. Unless it freaks you out, then, you know, ignore it.”

“Your body doesn’t freak me out, Bucky,” Steve says firmly. “Hey, look at me.”

Bucky hadn’t realized he had turned away, and he lets Steve guide him back with a hand on his cheek. 

“I meant it when I said you’re beautiful,” Steve says, his usual determination softened only by the strength of his emotion. Steve opens his mouth, as if to further try to convince Bucky, but then changes his mind. Steve lies down again, closer now, half on top of Bucky, and continues worshipping his chest.

This time he doesn’t stay away from the metal and rough scars, giving them the same attention as everywhere else. Steve kisses the vibranium, the ropy skin along the edge, and trails his lips over the place where the bullet went in. One hand is in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky turns his face into it, his breath coming harder as Steve finds his other nipple. By the time Steve has circled it with his tongue and sucked it into his mouth, working it into a hard nub, Bucky is panting again. He’s not going to last much longer if Steve keeps this up, and he’s ready for more.

Bucky flips them over and finds Steve’s lips, kissing him hungrily as he presses his whole body down against Steve’s. Steve lets his legs fall open, and Bucky can feel the hard press of his cock against him.

Bucky pushes Steve’s tank up, kissing over the mounds of his pecs, and then tugs the shirt off over his head, kissing his way up as he goes. “Okay if I take my pants off now?” Bucky asks, tugging at Steve’s earlobe with his teeth. Steve’s hands fly to Bucky’s jeans, and after a short struggle, they are both blissfully naked. 

Bucky takes a quick moment to admire Steve, laid out underneath him, a pink flush spreading from his cheeks down his chest, but he’s too far gone to wait much longer. He lets his weight settle against Steve’s body and they move together, Steve squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at Bucky’s back, making the most delicious sounds.

Bucky shifts and gets a hand between them. “Bucky,” Steve pants as Bucky’s fingers close around his cock, “oh fuck, I’m so close.” 

Bucky strokes Steve, loving the feel of the weight of him in his hand, and the way Steve is starting to moan with every breath. Then Steve’s got him in hand as well, and they laugh into each other’s mouths as they squirm like teenagers to get their bodies where they want them. Steve manages to get his hand around them both, and Bucky pants into Steve’s shoulder as he takes them over the edge.

They finally catch their breath, lying together on the bed in exhausted pleasure. Steve’s got his nose buried somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky’s armpit (the natural one, with the hair and the sweat) and Bucky’s trailing his metal fingers over the impressive muscles in Steve’s back.

Steve shivers, and turns over, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of Bucky’s neck as he goes. “Tickles,” he explains, making himself comfortable against Bucky’s side. 

“Sorry.”

“’s’okay.” Steve hoists himself up on an elbow, his pecs bulging inches away from Bucky’s face. He doesn’t say anything though, and eventually Bucky caves, covering his face with his hand.

“Stop staring at me,” Bucky pleads, but Steve just moves Bucky’s hand off his face.

“I like looking at you. I like that we can do this.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he’s referring to how they have apparently overcome all the greater forces in the world that have kept them apart until now, or just their own slow circling back to each other, but he definitely agrees. “Me too.”

“We still need to go on our date.”

“We can go tomorrow.” 

Steve’s face falls. “It’s still gonna be snowing. You can’t see the sunset when it’s snowing.”

Not to mention how cold it would be up on the cliff Steve has described to him several times now. “We can go some other time. Or pick somewhere else.”

Steve nods. “There’s this great restaurant near my place in Brooklyn. Italian, family owned. The best garlic bread you’ve ever tasted. You’d love it.”

Bucky drags his fingers through Steve’s hair, even messier now than when he got out of the shower. He’s not sure what to make of Steve’s talk of Brooklyn, but there’s no need to wait so long.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Breakfast, tomorrow. At the Black Dog in Vineyard Haven. It’s on the water, right by the harbor. Henry – that bartender from Skippers' - says they’ve got the best breakfast on the island.”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s face. He’s still leaning on his elbow, but he ducks down and kisses Bucky’s forehead and then the tip of his nose before leaning back to catch his eyes again. “This is real, isn’t it?”

There’s a lump in Bucky’s throat as he nods.

“Tomorrow morning,” Steve says, almost contemplative. “We can go out for breakfast together tomorrow morning. You and me.”

“Yeah, bud. We can.” Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh. “We can even afford bacon with our eggs.”

“I can do _this,_ ” Steve presses a deliberate kiss to Bucky’s lips, “and taste your coffee.”

“If you want. Although you can just take a sip from my cup, I won’t mind.”

Steve flops over on to his back, and Bucky shifts to shake out his arm, which was falling asleep from being pinned under Steve. Steve sees what he’s doing, and climbs over Bucky, so that they can lie facing each other, Bucky’s metal arm sliding up under the pillow between them, his flesh arm free to drape over Steve’s body. Steve proceeds to rub Bucky’s free arm until the pins and needles go away.

They’ve almost dozed back to sleep when Bucky feels Steve go tense at his side, and then Steve is up off the bed, in between Bucky and the door, with a gun in his hand. Bucky is simultaneously perplexed at where the gun came from – it’s not the one he keeps under the bed, or in the night table drawer – and impressed at how quickly Steve moved into action.

Of course, he’s also about to laugh his ass off, because Steve is poised to wreak havoc on Nora’s house for no reason at all.

“Steve?” Bucky says softly, but Steve just waves a hand at him in a “stay silent” signal and creeps closer to the closed door.

There’s a scratching sound, and Steve glances back at Bucky, apparently torn between keeping himself between Bucky and whatever’s out there, and moving to open the door and confront it. Steve starts to get the picture, however, probably from the way Bucky has his hand over his mouth, desperately trying not to giggle.

Steve lowers his gun, and glares at Bucky. “It’s a cat, isn’t it?”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Bucky laughs and jumps off the bed, opening the door. Miss Kitty dashes in and immediately hides under the bed, not even stopping to cuddle after causing all that commotion. 

Bucky grins at Steve and gives him a slap on his bare ass as he gets back into bed. “Nice moves, Cap.”

Steve gives Bucky another glare and sets the gun down on the night table. “Sue me if I’m a little worried about you.”

Steve’s words give Bucky pause, and he frowns, suddenly less sleepy that he was a few minutes ago. “Worried about me?”

But Steve just huffs and turns away, crossing his arms around his body. It would be more effective if he wasn’t naked. But Bucky feels a little badly for teasing him, especially when he’s given Steve plenty of cause to worry over the years. And Steve is obviously upset.

“Steve?” Bucky climbs back out of bed, and pulls on his briefs. “Want some hot chocolate?”

Steve turns to him, blinks, and something in his posture relaxes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Steve finds his sleep pants and tank, and Bucky tugs on the sweatshirt Bruce gave him (it’s really soft, he’s not planning on giving it back) and they go downstairs. 

“You can make a fire if you want,” Bucky says, gesturing at the living room. “Might be a good night for it.”

Steve nods and immediately starts towards the fireplace. Bucky thinks he’s glad to have something to do.

In the kitchen Bucky gets the hot chocolate mix out of the pantry. It’s nothing fancy, just store brand, but he knows Steve won’t mind. He takes his time, wanting to give them each a few minutes to themselves. He has a feeling he knows where this conversation is going, and he wants his head to be in the right place. 

When he brings the two mugs of hot chocolate into the living room, Steve’s got the fire going steadily. His face is glowing in the light of it, golden skin and hair making him look even more the godlike creature than he ordinarily does.

Bucky sets the mugs down on the coffee table, all too aware of the mostly white furnishings around them. He moves towards Steve, who’s crouching in front of the fire, poking at it with a stick. Bucky sits down cross-legged, and Steve does the same, only their knees touching.

The flames are hypnotic, and Bucky lets himself drift for a few minutes, before he remembers the point of this exercise. He doesn’t know how to prompt Steve, and he’s starting to wonder if maybe they should just go back to bed, when Steve speaks.

“Nothing felt right, when they woke me up,” Steve begins. “I was always on edge, no matter how I tried to tell myself it was normal, that eventually it would all settle, and I’d feel at home. But it didn’t. It wasn’t home, it wasn’t where I belonged, no matter how nice everyone was to me. Until I saw you, and then – then it was as if I’d been granted my wish, every wish I’ve ever made.” Steve’s eyes flicker towards Bucky’s, and then back to the fire. 

“Except, it wasn’t right then either, because you were so hurt. Beaten down. Not all the way – god, not all the way, I could see that instantly – but you were trapped, and I didn’t know how to help you.”

Bucky stays quiet, letting him go on.

“I was so worried for you. When you disappeared, I hoped you were just on your own, figuring things out, but I knew there was a chance Hydra had found you. They could have been torturing you, or making you go out and do more work for them, or putting you back in cryo. Or they might have just said to hell with it and killed you.” Steve’s voice cracks. “I worried all the time. It just became an undercurrent, beneath whatever else I was supposed to be doing. Sam helped me look for you, but we had no leads, nothing, not for two years until that fucking Sekovia Accords mess sent the whole world after you. And then, fuck – even my own guys wanted to kill you.”

“Steve, I’m so-”

“Don’t you dare apologize, Bucky,” Steve growls out, finally turning to him. “That wasn’t your fault. None of this is your fault.” He shakes his head. “Do you know what my first thought was, when I saw that photo of you in Bucharest, with your baseball cap and that red shirt? I thought damn, he looks good. And then I wanted to crack my head against the wall for being such an idiot, for not realizing immediately how much danger you were in, and all the worry came thundering back.”

Steve sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “I know you’re going to tell me to stop worrying, that there’s nothing to worry about anymore. I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shuffles closer to Steve, and puts a hand on his thigh. “I’m not gonna tell you that.”

Steve’s head swivels to look at him, and there’s something pleading in his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I took out a lot of Hydra bases since I got free, and I know you guys have been doing it too. But we both know they’re still around. Gone to ground, maybe, or conspiring to make freaky robot windmills. As long as Hydra is out there, or anyone who might want to have the Winter Soldier as a weapon for themselves, I’m never going to be completely safe.”

Steve’s eyes are wide as he looks at Bucky, as if he never expected him to agree with him. “So what do we do?”

Bucky takes Steve’s hand and threads their fingers together. “I imagine SHIELD is pretty concerned about you being kidnapped or compromised, right?”

Steve nods. “Sure.”

“Any of the Avengers would be pretty valuable if captured by an enemy?”

“Of course.”

“So now I’m no different. At least, once Natasha helps me deactivate the Red Room triggers. We just have to look out for each other, that’s all.”

Steve leans his head heavily on Bucky’s shoulder, taking his hand in both of his and holding it to his chest. “Just like we’ve always done, huh?”

“Just like we’ve always done.”


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning Bucky doesn’t even realize Steve isn’t in bed with him until Steve wakes him up, crawling back in under the covers and pressing freezing cold hands to his bare arms.

“Jeez, Steve, you’re like ice. What happened?” Bucky tries to pluck Steve’s hands off his body but Steve just squirms closer and tucks his chilly nose into Bucky’s shoulder.

“It snowed, Buck. It’s beautiful out.”

“You sound way too cheerful for a guy that’s practically an icicle.”

“Hey, we don’t joke about that,” Steve says, a laugh in his voice. “Come on, Buck, rise and shine.”

Bucky tries to turn over and hide his face in the pillow, but Steve won’t let him. “Anyone ever tell ya you’re kind of strong?”

“I’ve heard it said.” Steve smacks a cold kiss against Bucky’s lips as he wraps a leg around Bucky’s thigh. Even his jeans are cold.

Bucky decides more sleep is simply not going to happen. “What time is it anyway?”

“Almost eight. I cleared the driveway, so we can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“You cleared the driveway?”

“Yeah. Great snowblower, by the way. Started up nice and easy.”

Bucky pushes up on an elbow, and looks at Steve. His face is a little red from the cold, and his hair is messy, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Bucky’s ever seen. And he’s here in Bucky’s bed, talking about snowstorms and snowblowers and, apparently, their date.

He’s tempted to let his hands slide down Steve’s body and warm him up in an entirely different way than a hot breakfast, but Steve is clearly very invested in this date thing, and to be honest, Bucky quite likes the idea too.

“You always get up so early?” Bucky asks, sitting up and stretching.

“What can I say, duty calls,” Steve replies, and then his eyes go wide as he realizes what he said.

Bucky freezes too, even though the English word shouldn’t affect him at all, and they both just stare at each other until the moment passes.

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve says, crestfallen.

“Nah, it’s okay.” Bucky shoves his shoulder at Steve’s, then wraps his arms around him and gives him a tight hug. “Really, I’m okay.”

Bucky heads off to shower and get dressed, leaving Steve to feed the cats (“I think I can figure it out, Bucky”). He tries not to think too hard about what might have happened if the word had triggered him, despite Natasha’s assertions to the contrary. At least Steve is a match for him – as Bucky’s inability to kill him before has proven.

When he comes downstairs, Steve is sitting at the kitchen island, eye to eye with Mittens.

“I think she likes me,” Steve says, scratching her under the chin.

“You did just feed her,” Bucky replies drily. 

“I, um, I texted Natasha. She said we should just go over there after breakfast, and she’ll work on the trigger words with you.”

“Okay.” 

“Bucky? Do you want to talk about it?”

He looks at Steve and shrugs. “I’m fine.”

But when they’re in the station wagon, driving along the snowy roads, Bucky can’t stop thinking about it. Steve’s telling him about a place in Edgartown that sells the most amazing chocolate covered pretzels when Bucky starts to speak.

“I just feel so helpless, sometimes. Like my brain isn’t my own, that it could up and betray me at any time.”

Steve doesn’t comment on the abrupt change in topic; he knows exactly what Bucky is talking about.

“That sounds awful. I can’t imagine what it’s like.”

“You think Natasha can, though.”

Steve shifts in the passenger seat. Bucky can feel him looking at him, although he keeps his eyes mostly on the road. “I do. I know her pretty well. She’s been good to me, since I woke up. Sam’s great too, but he’s in D.C. most of the time. And Natasha… what she’s been through, Bucky, it’s as close to what happened to you as anyone I know.”

“At least, anyone that isn’t still with Hydra. Like those other Winter Soldiers we found dead in Siberia.”

It’s a little harsh, but Steve isn’t deterred. “Yup. And it’s not only that she knows what she’s doing, Bucky. Under all that bluster, she’s a decent person. I trust her.”

“She let us get away, at the airport in Leipzig. Even though it meant turning against Stark.”

“She did.”

“She got a soft spot for you, Steve?”

“Natasha doesn’t have any soft spots,” Steve says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But she’s a good judge of character.”

“Then why’s she gonna help me?”

Steve snorts. “Figure it out.”

**********  
The restaurant is as perfect as Henry promised it would be. Although it’s bitterly cold outside – even the short walk from where they parked left them both windblown and shivering – inside the restaurant the large room is cheerful and warm.

There are a line of polished wood tables and benches along the glass windows looking out onto the harbor, and they sit across from each other, mugs of coffee clasped between their hands. They order a pile of eggs and bacon and sausage, with a plate of banana-chocolate-chip pancakes for them to share as dessert, and polish it all off without any trouble.

As they wind down their meal, Steve reaches out and touches Bucky’s hand where it’s resting on the table, still clad in the black leather gloves he wears when he doesn’t want to draw attention to his metal hand. “Happy first date, Buck,” Steve says softly, his eyes sparkling.

“Happy first date, Stevie,” Bucky replies, smiling back at him. He takes a quick glance around the room; it’s quiet, just a few other tables filled with guests, and no one is paying them any attention. He turns over his hand and tangles his fingers with Steve’s, knowing that even if anyone saw, they wouldn’t care. And even if they did, the look on Steve’s face would be worth it.

The waitress comes over, refills their coffee mugs and clears their plates, and doesn’t blink an eye at their clasped hands. 

“There’s definitely some good stuff about being in the future,” Steve says, his foot poking at Bucky’s under the table. “Never thought I’d get to take my best pal on a real date.”

“I’m your best pal, am I?” Bucky asks, his mouth pulling up at the corner with a smile.

“You know you’re a lot more than that,” Steve replies, his voice low. “You’re everything to me, Buck.”

“So you wanna be boyfriends?” Bucky keeps his voice light, but he’s serious, and Steve can tell.

“If you’ll have me, I’d like nothing more.”

And when they’re back at the car, Bucky digging his keys out of his pocket as the wind whips around them, Steve grabs him by the shoulders and kisses him soundly. Bucky lets him press his body up against the icy side of the car, winds his arms over Steve’s shoulders and kisses back with everything he’s got. He thinks he knows exactly how Steve feels, overwhelmed with their ability to be together, and so goddamned happy about it he can hardly breathe.

**********

Natasha insists that Steve leave them alone while they work, which makes Steve grumpy.

“I could help,” he insists, stomping around the kitchen table in the basement of the safe house.

“Really, Steve?” Natasha cocks her head at him, her ponytail swinging. “It’s not like you speak Russian.”

“Um, I do.”

“You speak Russian?” This is the first Bucky’s heard about it.

Steve just shrugs, and Natasha grins. “He tried to learn it after he first saw you as the Winter Solider. Thought it might help get through to you, I guess.”

Steve is blushing now, and Bucky’s heart goes out to him. Steve is a lot of things, but a master of foreign languages, not so much.

“That’s kind of sweet,” Bucky volunteers, and Steve gives him a grateful look.

“Maybe it would have been, if he ever got past ‘hello, my name is Steve, what’s your name?’”

“Fine, I’ll go upstairs.” Steve glares at Natasha, and starts to walk towards the door, then strolls back and gives Bucky a kiss right on the lips. “See you soon, okay?” Steve says softly, and Bucky’s sure his heart is about to burst out of his chest.

“Super cute, but we’ve got work to do,” Natasha says, but there’s no heat in it.

Bucky takes a deep breath. She’s right, of course; putting it off any longer won’t make it any better. “You sure it’s going to work? I’m not gonna just white out and try to rip your head off?”

“Barnes, you couldn’t rip my head off if you tried – and you have tried, remember, and you lost.”

“But-”

Natasha shakes her head at him, and then pulls a long knife out of her boot. Bucky appraises it quickly, thinking she’s going to keep it at the ready while she questions him, but then Natasha holds out the hilt in his direction.

“Take it.”

“Take your knife?”

“Yup. It’s freshly sharpened, I promise. Good weight to it. One of my favorites.”

“Natasha…” He blinks at her, and then suddenly he gets it. She’s so certain that Bucky’s not going to get triggered (or if he does, that he won’t be able to hurt her), she doesn’t mind giving him her frankly awesome knife. He forces himself to relax, and takes the knife, placing it between them on the table.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do.” Natasha explains that the Red Room used a number of different words as reminders to their widows and other spies and assassins in the program so that they could be prompted from a distance, without time-consuming procedures. “’Duty’ was one of them,” she says, saying the very Russian word which sent Bucky’s mind spinning just a few days ago, from the moment the Hydra agent said it in the ice rink to when he texted it to Natasha on his phone. “How does it feel when you hear it now?”

Bucky stares at her, and she says it again, several times. 

“It, um, it isn’t doing anything.”

Natasha nods. “See?”

“Don’t tease me,” Bucky says, a current of annoyance running through him. “It can’t be that easy.”

“It isn’t,” Natasha says, perching on the tabletop next to him. “You’ve been aware of that one for a few days now, with enough time for it to get through to your brain that you don’t need to obey it any longer. Hearing it now makes you think of sitting at this table with me and Steve, diluting its power as a Red Room word. We’re going to talk through all the other ones today, and try to link each of them to a specific memory or idea from now – the present – so that when they come up again, the power they had over you years ago fades, and all that is left is the new, safe memories.”

Bucky considers this, then looks around the room, empty beer bottles lined up on the counter to be taken out to be recycled, a bowl of apples on the table. “I’m never going to be able to forget this place, am I?” he asks.

Natasha shrugs. “In an ideal world, you won’t be forgetting anything anymore,” she says. “So – you ready?”

They spend four hours going over and over the ten words Natasha thinks are most likely to have been used on Bucky. Two of them mean nothing at all to him, but the rest each trigger a momentary blackout and leave him with a sick feeling in his stomach the first time Natasha says them. He feels so wrecked after some of them that they have to take a break, Bucky lying down on the couch while Natasha plays cat videos on the television. 

But by the fourth or fifth time she says each word, only an echo of the initial panic remains, although when they’re done Bucky feels like he wants to crawl into bed and curl up around his stomach until the world stops spinning. 

“We’ll do this again in a few days, or you can just have Steve read the words to you, or play them on your phone,” Natasha says. “But it’s only going to get better from here, Barnes. Nobody’s controlling your mind any more but you.”

“And we’re sure that’s a good idea?” Bucky mumbles, his face smushed into the arm of the couch.

Natasha laughs softly and pats him on the shoulder. “You did just fine. I’ll email you a calendar invite to the next retired assassins meeting. We’ll have a blast.”

“Very funny.”

Bucky lies still on the couch, letting his mind wander. He hears Steve’s footsteps on the stairs, but can’t bring himself to move, letting Steve come over and crouch down next to him.

“Hey, buddy. How are you?”

Bucky turns his head and looks at Steve. “Feel like I’ve been run over by a truck. After having the flu for a week.”

Steve frowns. “That bad?”

Bucky shoves himself up to a sitting position and leans his hands on his knees. “It could be a lot worse. And… Natasha thinks it worked.”

Steve nods. “She told me. She also said you’d be pretty wiped out, and I shouldn’t – and I quote – ‘try to knock you up tonight.’”

Bucky laughs. “She’s not wrong.” He looks at Steve, so patient and understanding, it nearly makes him cry. “Take me home?”

“Yeah? If you want to be alone, I could-”

“Steve,” Bucky breathes out, “why the hell would I want to be alone after all that? Or, you know, ever? I thought we got this boyfriend thing all worked out?”

Steve gawks at him for a moment, and then his brain seems to kick back in again. “Boyfriends don’t have to spend every minute together. It’s perfectly natural for people to need some time apart, especially at the beginning of a relationship.”

Bucky grabs Steve’s face and kisses him. Steve is surprised, but goes with it, and Bucky almost changes his mind about the whole not being ravished tonight business.

When Bucky pulls back, Steve looks bereft, then shakes his head at Bucky, smiling. “I admit I’m confused, but I don’t think I care.”

“You’re just cute, is all,” Bucky says, holding out his hand for Steve to pull him up off the couch. “Nice speech, by the way. I’ll bet you twenty bucks I know what you did to kill time while I was working with Natasha.”

Steve hands Bucky his coat, and frowns. “Did Sam tell you I talked to him? Bucky, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Nah, of course not.” It’s sweet, is what it is. As sweet as Steve trying to learn Russian to talk to the brainwashed Soldier.

“I just want us to work, Buck,” Steve says earnestly, putting on his jacket. “And both of us have been through some awful stuff. You’re...”

“A handful, I know,” Bucky says. This is exactly why he wanted to wait to get his act together before getting back into Steve’s life.

“No, that’s not what I mean, I just want to be able to help. And I don’t have a clue, Bucky. I’m not like Natasha. I don't have any experience with this. I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“You’re doing just fine, Steve. Just fine.”

That night, however, things are a little less than fine. Much to Bucky’s surprise, it isn’t him that wakes up screaming, eyes wild and muscles coiled with fear – it’s Steve.

“Steve, what is it?” Bucky’s nerves are on high alert, something akin to terror running through his veins as he tries to get Steve to look at him. 

“Don’t touch him, don’t touch him,” Steve yells, his eyes unseeing as they scan across the room.

“Steve?” Bucky speaks more firmly. Steve is tangled in the blankets and stumbles to the floor as he tries to get out of the bed, trying to chase down some unknown assailant.

“Steve, it’s okay. It’s Bucky. You’re here with me, we’re safe. We’re both safe.”

Steve looks up from where he landed on the floor, blankets wrapped around his knees. “Bucky?”

Bucky turns on the bedside lamp. “See? You’re here with me. We’re safe. We’re together.”

“Bucky…” Steve scrambles up and onto the bed, grabbing Bucky into a crushing hug. “Bucky, you’re okay.” He pulls back and looks at him, frantically running his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, over his face, cupping the back of his head. “You’re really okay? Bucky?” 

“I’m okay. I’m not hurt.” Bucky leans his forehead against Steve’s. “We’re on the island – you were here to see if there was a Hydra base, remember? We took out the base, with Natasha and Tony and Clint?”

Steve clutches Bucky’s arms, his fingers digging into Bucky’s flesh. He’s still frantically looking around the room as if afraid they’re going to be attacked. 

“Steve? You remember the robot windmills?”

A long pause. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

“We took ‘em out, Steve. Everything’s okay now. It’s just you and me here, in Nora’s house. With the cats.” 

Steve’s breathing hard, leaning heavily against Bucky, but he lets out a weak chuckle. 

Bucky strokes his head, brushes his hair off his face. “You want a drink of water, or-”

“No – don’t - don’t go,” Steve pleads, and his voice near to breaks Bucky’s heart.

“I won’t go anywhere. I’m staying right here.” Bucky wraps his arms around him, this strong, powerful man, brought to his knees with fear Bucky can’t seem to chase away.

And as much as Bucky wants to take care of Steve in this moment, he’s fairly freaked out himself, too. His heart is racing, and he’s shaking almost as much as Steve. He tries to relax and concentrate on the feel of Steve’s warm skin, the soft cotton of his tank top, the whispery tickling of his hair in Bucky’s face. 

After who knows how long, Bucky can feel his heart rate calm down. Steve starts to take control of his breathing, long careful breaths in and out, hitching less with each effort, and Bucky matches him breath for breath.

“That’s it. You’re okay. We’re okay.” Bucky doesn’t know how many times he says it. Finally Steve slumps down on the bed, pulling Bucky with him, and burrows in to his neck. He’s on the metal side, face pressed against Bucky’s vibranium shoulder. Bucky thinks Steve can’t possibly be comfortable, but he won’t budge.

“Steve, you want to talk about it?” Bucky asks. But all he gets in response is silence.

He’s not sure either of them sleeps for the rest of the night, at least not more than a few minutes at a time. Steve doesn’t say anything else, but every once in a while he tightens his hold on Bucky, as if he’s afraid he’s going to be snatched right out of his arms. 

Bucky’s feeling a bit claustrophobic, and his shoulder is starting to throb, but he can’t bring himself to make Steve move. He’s counting on things going back to normal – or at least a certain value of normal - when the sun comes up, when they can talk this through and Bucky can try to get a handle on what’s going on. He knows vets have nightmares, PTSD, all kinds of consequences from the trauma they’ve been through. Certainly he’s got personal experience with it all. But he never really thought about how it would affect Steve. And it kills him to realize that what Bucky went through today probably fueled Steve’s episode.

He wonders if it would be easier to steal Sam’s number from Steve’s phone, or just ask Natasha for it. 

Bucky realizes he must have dozed off at some point, however, because the next thing he knows, Steve is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, fully dressed, staring determinedly at the floor. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, sitting up and trying to will his sleep-deprived brain into functioning. “Want to get breakfast?” Their date yesterday had gone so well, maybe they could just start every day that way. Seems like a decent idea to Bucky.

But not, apparently, to Steve.

“Sorry, I can’t,” Steve says, shifting his weight. “We’ve got a briefing with Coulson at eleven. I’ve got to go back to the house, prepare.”

Bucky is pretty much the reigning world champion on reading Steve Rogers, has been since they were kids, and he knows damn well something is wrong. He slides off the bed, shivering as the cool air hits his skin, and crosses the room.

But as he approaches Steve and reaches out, Steve flinches, and all Bucky’s logic and patient reasoning go out the window, his arm halting its motion halfway to Steve’s side. 

“Sorry, gotta go.” Steve takes off down the hallway, and seconds later Bucky hears the front door open and close. He’s gone.

Bucky’s heart is pounding with shame, the rejection fodder for his worst fears. He sinks to the floor, resting his head on his knees. Steve’s just upset, he tells himself, he’s feeling embarrassed about last night, he’s just upset. Steve’s not leaving Bucky. He’s still your boyfriend, Bucky thinks. He still loves you. He’s just upset.

Bucky swallows hard, and gets up from the floor. He finds his phone and texts Natasha. Maybe Sam’s the professional, but Bucky doesn’t know him. He knows Natasha, and Steve trusts her. She’s got to be able to help.

_Steve’s freaking out. Can we talk?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Just a few chapters left… if you’re enjoying this, please come say hi and [re-blog ](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/157439061987/winds-of-change-ch-1215) on Tumblr (I’m flowerfan2 there).


	13. Chapter 13

_Steve’s freaking out. Can we talk?_

Bizarrely, Natasha replies with the suggestion that they meet at The Black Dog, so Bucky does wind up having breakfast there once again, his mug of coffee cradled in his hands – just not with Steve.

Natasha’s wearing slim black jeans, boots, and a soft looking gray sweater under a fitted black jacket. She’s got a certain style, a cross between ready-for-action assassin and fashionista. Bucky would appreciate it more if he wasn’t so miserable. 

Natasha tosses her jacket on the bench next to her, but doesn’t say a word until she’s downed her mug of coffee.

“Did he have a nightmare?” she finally asks, hardly making it a question. “Seriously disoriented afterwards, but refused to talk about it?”

“Yes.” Bucky huffs. “So is my house bugged, or has this happened before?”

“We couldn’t get permission to bug your house,” Natasha says blandly.

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“And Steve wouldn’t let us.”

Bucky breathes out slowly. “How often does this happen?”

Natasha shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m not his babysitter. But when we’re on ops together, it’s pretty often.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

She looks annoyed. “No, of course not. I love to see my friend in pain, it’s awesome.”

“But why hasn’t he gotten help?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Barnes. Why haven’t you gotten help?”

“I have.”

“Sure, you’ve been seeing your therapist real regularly since you came here to hide out from the world.”

“Natasha, that’s not fair-”

“No?” She pauses as the waitress sets down their food, eggs benedict for Bucky, and a veggie omelet for her. “Look, we both know you have to talk to Steve about this, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. So it’s kind of a problem. But yelling at me isn’t going to solve anything.”

“It might make me feel better,” Bucky mumbles, and Natasha smiles. 

“Well then, go right ahead.”

They eat in silence for a few minutes, but Bucky doesn’t have much of an appetite.

“It’s scary as hell, seeing him like that.”

Natasha sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“And this morning, he just – left.” Bucky knows his despair is written on his face, he can feel it weighing him down like an anchor.

“Don’t go there, Barnes. He’s still head over ass for you. If anything, right about now he’s going crazy with guilt for whatever shit he pulled.”

And the thought of that – Steve feeling terrible, on top of everything else, is suddenly too much for Bucky to take. Natasha’s still got half her omelet on her plate, but Bucky’s had enough. “Any chance you could get that to go?”

When they arrive at the safe house, Steve’s car is in the driveway. Natasha excuses herself to her bedroom, and Bucky takes a deep breath and goes down to the basement.

Steve is sitting at the conference table in the living room. He looks up when Bucky opens the door, his eyes wide and sad. 

Bucky quickly joins him at the table, looking at the pile of files in front of Steve, and the unopened laptop. “So, maybe we should prepare for this briefing? Or is Coulson just going to want to see your pretty face?”

“Bucky,” Steve starts, his voice tight. “You don’t have to-”

“To what? I want to be prepared for Coulson’s questions. Gotta impress my new boss. Don’t want him to think I’m slacking off.”

Steve swallows hard. “Buck, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey,” Bucky says, turning to Steve and putting his hand on his thigh, “it’s okay. All right? It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I was awful to you.” Steve shakes his head. “You can’t just let that go.”

“Sure I can. You’re an asshole sometimes, remember?” Bucky says lightly. “I can take it. Besides, I’m likely to have some crap days myself. Seems like we’re probably better off knowing that going in.”

“I feel terrible,” Steve says, but his shoulders are relaxing, and Bucky can tell he’s coming around.

“We’re still gonna talk about this later,” Bucky says matter of factly. “I want to know how to help you. You shouldn’t have to go through this shit any more than I should. But don’t worry about _us._ We’re solid, you and me. Right?”

Steve lets out a long shaky breath. “Right.” 

Bucky leans against Steve’s side, but it’s not enough to reassure himself, let alone Steve, so he wraps his arms around his broad shoulders and holds tight. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy, pal. Don’t worry, okay?”

Steve burrows his face into Bucky’s neck. “Okay. But you’ve got to call me on this stuff. Hold me accountable.”

“What, you think you’ll just smile your Captain America smile and I’ll be so charmed I’ll let you do whatever you want?”

Steve pulls back, and grins shyly at Bucky. “We could still do that sometimes.” His eyes are twinkling now, and Bucky wants to kiss him. So he does.

**********

Turns out, Coulson really does want to see Steve’s pretty face, and Bucky’s, and make sure they are both fully recovered from the events of the past few days. He’s also particularly interested in finding out why Steve’s body didn’t fight off the poison. 

“I think they specially engineered it to withstand the healing factor in the super serum,” Coulson says, and Bruce (who’s also conferenced in; it looks like he’s in Stark’s lab, but Bucky can’t tell for sure until Tony shows up and hands him a smoothie) chimes in with a possible explanation of how such a thing could be done.

Bucky tunes out for a few minutes, not so interested in the science talk. But his brain zeros right in on the next topic of conversation.

“They’ve got a lab where they’re making this shit?”

Coulson focuses on him, and nods. “That’s what we think.”

Bucky looks at Steve, and then back at Coulson. “When do we leave?”

“It’s not that simple, Sergeant,” Coulson says. “I’m not sure sending super soldiers to the lab where they’re making customized super soldier poison is a smart move.”

“Would the poison be any less effective on Nat, or Tony?” Steve asks.

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m definitely volunteering to be poisoned,” Tony says.

“Probably not,” Coulson says, answering Steve’s question. “But I’m also concerned about putting Sergeant Barnes out there again before we understand this group’s motivation.”

“He’s clear, chief,” Natasha says. “Cross my heart. He’s not going to be affected by the Red Room prompts. Especially if you give him another day to finish desensitizing.”

And doesn’t that sound like a fun afternoon’s work, Bucky thinks.

“It’s not Barnes’ reaction I’m worried about,” Coulson says, frowning at them. “Don’t any of you wonder why this particular Hydra operation just happened to have an agent who was ready to spout Russian at Barnes? The Red Room is supposed to be old news. I’m not thrilled about the prospect of them targeting Barnes – or you either, Natasha.”

They’re all quiet for a long moment, until Tony breaks the silence. “Not for nothing, Coulson, but doesn’t that make it even more important that we go get them before they slink back into their hiding place? Poison knives can’t get through my suit… isn’t there some bulletproof guy in Harlem making all the headlines? Maybe he’s got an evening free, can come keep me company.”

“No, if anyone goes, we all go. Bucky and I aren’t going to let anyone fight our battles for us.” 

Apparently Steve is fully recovered from his morning’s woes, and his justice streak is back in full force.

Natasha has been pacing back and forth, but returns to give Coulson’s onscreen image a pointed look. “You questioned that guy yourself, Coulson. You know damn well what he was doing there. What aren’t you telling us?”

“He didn’t tell us anything,” Coulson says, “and you don’t need to threaten to come here and question him yourself, it’s too late.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asks.

“Suicide tooth?” Steve guesses.

“Yup.”

“You know, someone should be able to come up with an antidote for _that poison,_ ” Tony says, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Spread it on some bullets of our own, shoot it into the bad guys, and then they can’t off themselves before we get to them. Or,” he says, getting more excited, “we could put truth serum on the bullets, and they’d just start confessing immediately. Think of all the time we’d save!”

They hear Bruce’s voice from off camera. “Truth serums don’t work that way.”

“Like that’s the only problem with that idea,” Steve mutters. 

Coulson clears his throat, and everyone quiets down. “All right. I take it if I green flag this mission, you’re all on board?” There’s a chorus of “yeahs” and Coulson sighs. “It’ll be at least tomorrow afternoon before I’ll have the information you need. Get some sleep, practice your Russian flashcards,” he gestures at Bucky, “and we’ll reconvene at two p.m. tomorrow.”

“Russian flashcards, I like that,” Tony says. “Can I play? My Russian accent needs some work, but it’s not as bad as Cap’s.”

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve groans, and Natasha shrugs.

“It was funny. You don’t give us a lot of material, Steve, we have to take what we can get.”

Bruce leans into the camera again, running his fingers through his hair. “Hate to cut this conversation short, but Tony and I have some work to do before we come over tomorrow.”

“Does it involve beer? Because if so, you should be doing it here.”

“It involves poison, Natasha,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Were you not following along?”

“Fine, then. We’ll have our own party.”

Tony laughs, his eyes crinkling up at the edges. “You and the Frosty twins? Sounds like a blast.” He smirks at his own joke. “A blast, get it? Icy?”

“Aw, Tony, you’re just jealous,” Natasha says, putting a little sway in her step as she walks up to the computer. “See you tomorrow, boys.” She sighs as she ends the Skype session, then rolls her eyes at Steve and Bucky. “I do get tired of being the only girl in this crowd. But given that I don’t have any other options tonight, how do you two feel about hot wings?”

Their evening with Natasha passes pleasantly enough. She takes them to a little dive bar that is just dimly lit enough to provide them with some cover without making Bucky itch for lack of visibility, and they eat sticky wings and the finest recently defrosted mozzarella sticks the place has to offer.

After their third round of beer, and several rounds of “will this word make me feel sick or just vaguely worried,” Natasha puts her phone away and levels a thoughtful look at Bucky. 

“So, super soldier number two, does alcohol have as little an effect on you as it does on Steve?”

“I think so.”

She disappears for a few minutes, then returns with a tray of shots. “Let’s find out.”

“Nat, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Steve looks skeptical, which is no surprise. But Bucky is curious. He’s thought about buying a bottle of vodka and seeing if he could get even a little tipsy, but sitting alone getting soused always seemed like a bad idea for his mental health. This, drinking with two people who not only care about him but can take him down in a fight, seems a lot more reasonable.

And potentially fun.

Bucky picks up one of the shot glasses and holds it up to Natasha. “Sláinte.” 

She clicks her glass against his, and they both drink, the vodka barely burning as it goes down. Steve shakes his head at them, leaning back in his chair and crossing his big arms over his chest, but he’s got a fond look on his face and Bucky isn’t concerned.

They’re somewhere around eight or ten shots in when Bucky moves his head a little too fast and realizes he’s got a decent buzz on. 

“Wow, hey, not bad,” he says. Now that he’s focusing on it, his face feels warm, and he leans over to bump his shoulder against Steve’s. “It’s working.”

“Finally.” Natasha stands up, holding her hand out. “Come on, let’s dance.”

Bucky stands up obediently, hardly swaying at all. “’Tasha, why aren’t you drunk? You don’t have the super-soldier stuff.”

“You’re as oblivious as he is,” Natasha scoffs, tilting her head towards Steve. “Only my first two shots were vodka. The rest were water.”

Steve laughs, and it’s a beautiful sound. Bucky wants to jump in his lap and drown in it, dig his face right into the v-neck of Steve’s absurdly tight t-shirt, but Natasha is tugging him over to the tiny excuse for a dance floor, so he goes along. She’s a good dancer, aware of her body and how to use it, but Bucky is too, and the alcohol running through his brain helps him let go and enjoy himself. She gives him an approving look, runs a finger down his chest, and nods to herself.

“What?”

“I like you, Barnes.”

A slow tune comes on, something sultry and hot. Natasha smiles at him and rests her head on his shoulder. “I give it fifteen more seconds,” she says, and Bucky is confused until Steve appears next to them, tapping Natasha on the shoulder.

“May I cut in?”

It’s not the most romantic place for their first dance together, but Bucky could care less as Steve wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. “Steve, you sure?” He can’t help but remember how much he always wished they could do this, back in the day. Not wanting to get arrested, however, had won out every time.

Steve runs a hand along Bucky’s back and lets it come to rest just over his ass, possessive and firm. “What, you questioning my skills? I think I can manage one slow dance.”

“What if I want more than one?”

Steve smiles at him, bright as the sun, even in the dim room. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

Sadly for Bucky, the song doesn’t in fact last forever. Natasha joins them when the music speeds up again, trying to tease Steve into something other than his endearing attempts at moving like he wasn’t born a hundred years ago, and Bucky thinks he’s never had this much fun.

Later that night, they’re back at Nora’s house, getting ready for bed (after a careful check of the perimeter), when Steve turns to him with a melancholy look on his face.

“Did it feel good? The alcohol?” Steve asks.

“Sure it did. But it only lasted a few dances. Not really worth the trouble.” Bucky pulls on the sleep pants he appropriated from the safe house and a soft t-shirt gray he took from Steve. The pants are blue, black and gray – they showed up today at the safe house with a ribbon around them, and Bucky has a feeling he knows who they are meant for – Tony is damn observant; the blue of the pants is a perfect match to the new star on his arm.

Steve comes over to Bucky, puts a hand on his shoulder, and kisses him, a little silly with it, licking at his lips and into his mouth. “I just taste beer,” he says, letting him go. “And maybe chicken.”

Bucky laughs. “Think I’m gonna go brush my teeth, Sherlock.”

Steve is wandering around downstairs when Bucky gets out of the bathroom, so Bucky gets into bed by himself, positioning his body over to the side so that when he turns to face Steve, his flesh arm is free. Steve doesn’t seem to care, not minding when Bucky touches him with his vibranium hand. But the truth is that while it’s an amazing piece of tech, Bucky still likes the way Steve feels under his real fingers better. 

He wonders if it’s too soon to think of this as his side of the bed, and the other as Steve’s. He decides it’s not.

Steve comes into the room carrying two glasses of water, and sets them down on a nightstand before he turns off the lights and climbs into the bed. He shuffles over towards Bucky, then turns away and pulls Bucky’s arm over him, snuggling back against Bucky’s chest.

“Used to be a lot easier to spoon you,” Bucky says, nuzzling the skin under Steve’s ear.

“Just more of me to love, I guess,” Steve replies carelessly. There’s a moment of awkward silence, and then Steve flips his whole big self over, hands finding Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s heart skips a beat.

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve says urgently. “I _love_ you. So much.”

Bucky grins. “I know, pal.”

“I don’t say it enough.” Steve brushes the hair back from Bucky’s face. “It’s hard, I’m not used to…”

“It’s okay. I know it whether you say it or not. Always have.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

It’s true, too. Bucky has never doubted Steve’s love for him. He knew it when they were stupid kids getting into fights at school, patching each other up back at Steve’s house (generally it was Bucky doing the patching, but he got hit once in a while too). He knew it when Steve saved him in Azzano and sat with Bucky all that first night as he shivered and cried in his arms, and when Steve said goodbye to him in Wakanda before Bucky went back into cryo, reluctantly but voluntarily.

Bucky also knows because Steve likes to talk to Bucky when he thinks Bucky’s asleep. After the blow-out with Tony in Siberia, on the long flight back, Bucky rested in the back of the plane while Steve sat up front and pondered what the hell he was going to do next, muttering to himself all the while. Eventually Steve had put the thing on autopilot and paced around, then planted himself on the floor next to the bench where Bucky was dozing, his hand finding Bucky’s arm.

“Aw, Bucky, I kinda made a mess out of things, didn’t I? But I don’t regret it, not even fighting Tony. I love you so goddamn much, Bucky, I can’t help it. There was nothing else I could do.”

Bucky hadn’t let on that he’d heard – Steve would have just been embarrassed. And Bucky wasn’t really in a place where he could make his own declarations of love, not when he was hanging on to his sanity by the barest thread. But Steve’s words warmed him and fed his resolve, and he wasn’t ever about to forget them.

Now, tucked up close in bed together, as safe as they’re ever likely to be, Bucky lets himself say it back.

“I love you too, you know. Kind of a lot.”

Steve ducks his head for a moment, then looks back at Bucky. “I hoped so.”

“You never really thought otherwise, did you?” Bucky thinks back to those first conversations with Natasha on the island, the way she accused Bucky of hurting Steve. And then, of course, there’s the whole _tried to kill you as the Winter Solider_ thing too.

Steve just shrugs. “I dunno. It’s hard to believe, sometimes. Why you’d ever want a skinny kid like me.”

Bucky bites his lip, ‘cause Steve not’s skinny anymore. But apparently Steve’s not insecure because of anything that happened since he went into the ice. In Steve’s mind, he’s still the sickly kid Bucky befriended before the war, who wasn’t much to look at, at least not the way Steve saw it.

“Remember when you got beat up saving Sadie Levy from that group of thugs that accosted her outside the kosher butcher? Came back to our apartment running at the mouth about prejudice and intolerance and how you wouldn’t put up with it?”

Steve frowns. “Yeah. They got me pretty bad. Broken ribs, sprained wrist, two black eyes.”

“And then the next day, you met her and her ma to take them shopping, since it was some important holiday and they needed to go back to the butcher?”

“Passover,” Steve says, nodding. “What about it?”

“That’s when I fell in love with you, you punk,” Bucky says, poking at Steve’s chest with a finger. “Didn’t see you as just a skinny kid, no matter what you think. Saw you as the best guy I had ever met. And pretty, to boot. None of that’s changed.”

“You’re such a sweet talker,” Steve mumbles, burying his face against Bucky’s neck. 

“Only ‘cause you’re so sweet.” Bucky tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair, petting him like one of the cats. Steve’s appreciative hum is even better than Mittens’ purr.

“Love you, Stevie,” Bucky says, trying to put his swelling heart into his words. “I’m yours. Always.”

Steve snuggles closer, and whispers right into Bucky’s ear. “I’m yours, too.”

It’s weird to talk about it, but definitely less weird than it used to be, here in the relatively progressive future. And it feels awfully good. Bucky thinks maybe he’ll try it again sometime - he doesn’t see that there’s any possible downside. He quite likes the idea of telling Steve he loves him in the light of morning. He’s willing to bet Steve will look even prettier with a blush.


	14. Chapter 14

Steve, Natasha and Bucky are already sitting around the conference table at the safe house, setting up the Skype call, when the rest of the team arrives.

Tony runs down the stairs first, of course, and tosses another black duffel bag at Bucky. “I gave you a few options – check ‘em out. Bullets aren’t going through any of them.”

Bruce and Clint follow him at a more civilized pace, although Bruce looks vaguely nervous at almost being late for the call. Then again, Bucky realizes, Bruce often looks nervous.

Coulson goes over what they know – the general layout of the building, who they’ve seen going in and out over the past few days, intercepted communications. And then what they don’t know, which sends a spark of discomfort through Bucky’s stomach.

“We still can’t come up with a quicker antidote for the poison,” Coulson says.

“Not for lack of trying,” Tony contributes. 

“That the reason for those lovely bags under your eyes?” Natasha asks, and receives a swat from Tony in return.

“It’s not Tony’s fault,” Bruce says. “We didn’t get enough information from what was in Steve’s blood. By the time we could examine it, it had been affected by the universal antidote, and the serum, too. So if anyone gets hit, they have to be treated immediately.”

“Especially if it’s someone other than Captain Rogers or the Sergeant,” says Coulson.

“I don’t like this,” says Steve. “Let me and Bucky go check it out. There’s no need for everyone to be put at risk.”

“Aw come on, Steve,” Clint says. “Let the rest of us have some fun. You can’t do everything yourself.”

“Clint’s right,” says Coulson. “But we want you all to be as prepared as possible. I want to go over the layout again, and run through scenarios for each possible location of the lab.”

Bucky tries his best to stay focused on the conversation, but he can’t help but think that things would go faster if Coulson just told them what to do, instead of letting everyone voice an opinion and then argue about it. He starts to see a pattern after a while, though, shedding a little light on the beauty of Coulson’s approach: Tony and Natasha throw out aggressive ideas, Bruce pulls them back, Clint offers something in the middle ground, and then Steve sweeps in with the obvious-as-soon-as-he-says-it brilliant solution to each problem, and Coulson solemnly agrees with his plan.

Seems that the Captain hasn’t lost his strategic vision, even here in the future, melancholy as he may be in his personal life. Steve’s still a military genius, as far as Bucky is concerned, and once he sees how it goes, he just sits back and enjoys the show.

After one particularly heated exchange between Natasha, Clint and Tony, when Steve mediates and then tosses down the perfect compromise, Bucky kicks Steve’s foot under the table. Steve’s eyes flicker to him and Bucky grins, almost laughing when Steve’s poker face threatens to dissolve. But Steve holds it together, Bucky agrees solemnly to this last proposal, and on they go.

The conversation is clearly almost over, Coulson and Bruce talking between themselves about the delivery method of the antidote, when Tony comes over to Bucky and gives his arm a shove. “Look what I brought,” Tony says, digging something out of his pocket. 

Tony holds up a flashcard with a Russian word on it, and Bucky closes his eyes so fast he almost sees stars. He stumbles his way away from the table and up the stairs, his heart beating a mile a minute, not even staying to explain himself.

The house seems too close for him to breathe, and he rushes outside, fast walking down the drive and willing his heart to slow down.

“Bucky?” 

It’s Steve, looking concerned as always. He’s got his leather jacket on, and he throws Bucky’s coat at him.

“Go back inside, I’m fine.” But he puts the coat on. It’s really cold out.

“Then why’d you run away?” Steve falls into place next to him, matching his stride to Bucky’s. They’d had to readjust, during the war, Bucky used to slowing his pace so Steve’s shorter legs could keep up; Captain America didn’t need to rush to keep up with anyone. “You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is.”

“I’m sorry, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

Steve doesn’t bother to argue, just continues to walk alongside him. The temperature is hovering just below freezing, and it’s windy too; Bucky can tell Steve won’t be the first to complain, though, not while he’s in Bucky caretaking mode.

Bucky starts to feel his metal arm stiffen with the cold, and it’s just another reminder of his weaknesses.

“I don’t belong on this team,” he declares, not looking at Steve. “What if more of those goons know about the Red Room prompts, and I panic? What good will I be to you then?”

“Pretty sure you’ve already explained to me how you’re the best sniper anyone could hope to have watching their back.”

“Yeah, well, Clint’s good too. And he’s not going to freak out when someone starts speaking in tongues.”

Steve laughs. “Have you met Clint? I wouldn’t bet on it. But Bucky, really, there’s no one like you. You know that, right? And at the moment, I’m not talking about your handsome good looks.”

Bucky glances at Steve, his eyes shining with sincerity. His heart skipped a beat at Steve’s word (he called me handsome!) but he’s not letting himself be distracted. 

“Everyone knows I’m a risk. I shouldn’t go with you.”

Steve practically rolls his eyes. “Now who’s being dramatic.”

“What?” Bucky starts, turning to glare at Steve, who is looking back at him mildly. “I’m not dramatic… I’m… I’m…”

“Go on. I’m waiting,” Steve says. “And it’s not getting any warmer out here.”

Bucky wants to punch him. “I’m broken. I’m flawed. I’m not goddamned dramatic.” He storms off towards the house, Steve’s laughter following him, before he realizes how he’s just weakened his case significantly.

“Bucky,” Steve says, jogging up to him and grabbing him by the arm. “Bucky, hey. We’re all flawed. All of us. And we look out for each other. That’s why we work so well together.”

Bucky just stands there, head down, as Steve pulls his head against his shoulder.

“There’s no one I trust more than you. No one I’d rather have at my back. I know you’re scared, but you can do it. I know it.”

Bucky _is_ scared. He’s scared of failing Steve, of failing himself. But it’s impossible to resist Steve when he uses his Captain America voice, especially when it’s combined with the way Steve’s practically giving him a full body hug and staring into his eyes with that patented earnest expression.

“You really think I can handle it?” Bucky whispers.

“I know it’s not what I was saying a few days ago,” Steve says. “But I’ve seen you in action again, Bucky. The way you move… you’re amazing. You were invaluable taking out the turbines. We’d never have gotten out of there without injuries if you weren’t with us. You can handle this, and I want you out there with me.” Steve shivers, and kisses Bucky on the head. “Now can we go inside? They’ve got this thing called heat, here in the future. It’s pretty awesome.”

**********  
For all the lead-up and stress, they take the base on the mainland so easily that Bucky almost feels disappointed. They have to hold position for several hours before heading in, which is tiresome, but when they finally get inside the lab is right in the most obvious location, the staff obediently throw themselves to the floor and don’t seem willing or able to use their poison teeth, and no one on the team so much as pulls a muscle.

When they get to the helicopters for the trip back to the island, the pilot insists that Steve sit up front with him – apparently he was too shy to say it on the way over, but his great-uncle served in World War II and the star-struck pilot wants to talk to Steve about it.

Steve flashes a disappointed look towards Bucky, but Bucky knows this kind of adoration is par for the course with Steve. Bucky’s just glad he doesn’t have any fanboys tugging at his sleeve, because as soon as he sits down in the back of the ‘copter, the adrenaline drains out of his system and he lets himself relax. Just because the operation was simple doesn’t mean he isn’t glad for a few moments of quiet. Natasha’s in the seat next to him, pulling her red hair out of its ponytail, and she flashes him a smile. “Good work, Barnes.” 

There were no Red Room words this time, no panicked moments, just precise teamwork and a successful mission. Bucky could get used to this.

The sound of the engine and the close comfort of the dark cabin have just about lulled him to sleep when he feels the helicopter start to descend, and before he knows it, they’ve landed. Tony, Bruce and Clint are climbing out of the other helicopter, and they look about as interested in having a call with Coulson as Bucky feels.

Only Steve is peppy, smirking and swinging his arm around Bucky’s shoulders as they walk back to the house. 

“You’re not even human,” Clint mutters in Steve’s general direction as they all traipse down into the basement, awaiting Coulson’s call.

“Now, that’s not nice,” Steve says, giving Clint a playful shove that almost knocks him over. Everyone’s shedding their gear, and Bucky notices Tony giving him a sideways look as Bucky takes off the new vest Tony made for him. It has added protection around the chest and shoulder, and uses some kind of flexible material at the shoulders and neck that is more comfortable than his old gear, yet still has much the same look. Tony also made him a long sleeved version, but Bucky couldn’t resist wearing this one, which still shows off his metal arm.

“This is perfect, Tony,” Bucky says. “Great range of motion, too. Thanks.”

Tony nods, and for once, actually seems to be trying to hide his smile. “You’re welcome.” He grabs two six-packs of beer from the refrigerator and starts handing them out, and Bucky takes one and drinks it down quickly, earning an interested look from Steve.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Coulson greets them and they start the debrief, but Bucky isn’t paying much attention. Instead he takes another beer bottle and fixes his lips around the top, stretching his neck out as he takes a few more gulps, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Steve is having trouble keeping his eyes on the screen – he’s too busy watching Bucky.

It makes Bucky’s internal horny teenager light up like a firecracker. 

The debrief is thankfully short, given the ease of the entire operation, and Coulson soon signs off. Tony has just started to explain what he has in mind for the rest of the night but he doesn’t get any further than “strip poker, but with-” before Steve is on his feet and dragging Bucky upstairs and out the door.

“In a rush, pal?” Bucky asks, bemused, as they get into the truck.

“Wanna get you home,” Steve says, revving the truck’s engine. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to tease?”

“Hmm,” Bucky says, trailing a metal finger down Steve’s thigh, “seems to me you’re enjoying it well enough.”

Steve snorts and fixes his eyes on the road. They might be driving just a tad over the speed limit, but it’s the middle of the night, and Bucky’s not about to object.

They’ve barely made it inside the house when Steve grabs Bucky and pushes him up against the door, crowding into him as he presses their lips together in a fervent kiss. Bucky kisses back hard, grabbing the back of Steve’s head and holding him tight. Steve’s got his whole body up against Bucky, their hips slotting together, not letting up even for a moment. It’s thrilling, and hot, but Bucky isn’t about to come in his pants. He doesn’t want things to be over quite so soon, so he pulls back, a hand on Steve’s cheek to slow him as Steve presses forward again.

“Hey gorgeous, what do you say we take this upstairs? Get comfortable?”

Steve blinks at him, then smiles a goofy little smile at the term of endearment. “Okay,” he says, and drags Bucky by his metal hand, practically racing up the stairs. When they get to Bucky’s room Steve turns to him and slides his hands under Bucky’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and then whips off his shirt. 

Bucky’s breathless, and it’s not from running up the stairs. He leans his head back as Steve starts sucking wet kisses under his chin and along his collarbone. Bucky ducks in for a turn, nibbling at Steve’s ear and then kissing down his neck, sucking hard at a spot while pressing his hips into Steve, which Steve acknowledges with a groan and a soft “ugh, yes.” After paying careful attention to all the skin he can get to, Bucky grabs at Steve’s clothes and tugs, and Steve gets the message and steps back, taking off his leather jacket and t-shirt, then dropping to his knees and undoing Bucky’s pants.

Bucky staggers back a step, but Steve grabs his waist, shoving his pants and briefs down to his knees. Bucky’s mind is spinning, but he gathers the presence of mind to speak up, filing it away in the better late than never category. “Steve, um, wait?”

Steve looks up at him, cheek practically leaning against his cock, and it’s ridiculously hard to form words.

“You might want to, I mean, um,… condom?” 

Steve seems perplexed. “You sent me your medical file. You’re clean. And the serum should take care of it for both of us, anyway.” Steve pauses, then gets a disturbingly concerned look on his face for someone currently nosing into his groin. “Unless you’d feel more comfortable? I haven’t been tested in a while, but the tests always come out clean, and it’s not like I’ve been with anyone…”

Shit, this really isn’t a conversation to have with one’s pants already down. “Steve, I don’t even know who I was with, before I got free.”

“You think I care about that?” Steve sits back on his heels. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Buck. I don’t care who you were with, then. Hell, I don’t even care who you were with _since_ then-”

“No one,” Bucky mutters.

“-as long as you want to be with me now.” Steve cracks a smirk, and nudges his chin against Bucky’s still hard cock. “And I think you do. So what do you say, can I suck your dick? Please?”

Bucky looks down at Steve, his persuasive puppy dog eyes just inches from his cock, Steve’s hands holding his hips, one thumb caressing him almost unconsciously as he waits for Bucky’s answer, and relents. “Sure, since you asked so nicely.”

Then Steve’s mouth is on him, enveloping him in wet heat. It doesn’t take long to bring Bucky close, and he bites his lip as he strangles a moan in his throat. Steve pops off and looks up at him, lips red and swollen already.

“You like this?” Steve asks, and all Bucky can do is nod. “There’s no one to hear you, you know. Except me. So go ahead. Let me hear you.”

Steve returns to his task, one hand on Bucky’s ass and the other moving on Bucky’s cock where his mouth doesn’t take it all in, and this time Bucky doesn’t censor himself. 

“Feels good,” Bucky says, the words spilling out of him. “Steve, yeah, please, fuck, so good.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s looking up at him again, but the hand on his cock keeps moving, and it’s all Bucky can do to keep standing up.

“Yeah.” He gasps in a breath. “You’ll see when you give me a turn to show you.”

Steve’s already flushed, but Bucky can see Steve’s eyes darken with lust at the thought. “Which do you … do you want…?”

“So polite,” Bucky says, smirking. He’s not exactly sure what question Steve is asking, but it’s long past time to get them both more naked. He grabs Steve by the shoulder and pulls him over towards the bed. “Come on.” Bucky pulls his clothes the rest of the way off, nearly tripping as he gets his pants over his feet, and climbs up on the bed. Steve quickly does the same.

Steve knee walks over to Bucky, and the sight of him is overwhelming. He looks like a dream. Bucky can’t help drawing a finger over his round pecs and his rippling abs, then settling his hand on his hip. 

But Steve isn’t in the mood for contemplation tonight, and he practically dives for Bucky’s lips again, unrelenting. This time when they touch there’s nothing between them, and Bucky can feel Steve hard and leaking against his thigh. Bucky reaches down and finds Steve’s cock, and Steve shivers as Bucky starts to stroke him, kissing him hard and then leaning his forehead against Bucky’s chest.

“Bucky, oh, please, Bucky…”

“Please what?” Bucky teases, as Steve’s hips jerk towards him.

Steve makes a breathy noise against Bucky’s skin. “I dunno, just… keep doing this. Forever, okay?”

Bucky laughs, slowing the motion of his hand and threading his metal fingers through Steve’s hair. “As many times as you want.” He kisses down Steve’s chest, pushing him to lie down on his back, and tugs at a nipple with his teeth until Steve starts to moan. Then he licks a path all the way down his body until he’s face to face with Steve’s cock. He gives it an experimental swipe with his tongue. Steve’s choked gasp is all the encouragement he needs.

“Holy shit,” Steve says, as Bucky takes him in his mouth. “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s so good.”

So much for Captain America not swearing, Bucky thinks. He twirls his tongue around the tip, catching his breath, and then sucks him down again. Steve gets a hand in Bucky’s hair, and Bucky pops off to look up at him. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice rough from his ministrations. “Pull if you want.”

He smirks at the lust blown look on Steve’s face, and then gets back to business. Steve does as suggested, and Bucky has to concentrate to keep going as Steve tugs and then pushes him down until he’s practically gagging on him.

He pulls off, gasping for air, and then climbs up to Steve’s mouth, taking him roughly in his arms.

“Love you so much, Steve,” he pants, as they press together. “So beautiful. You’re so beautiful.” 

Steve flips them over and then grinds down into Bucky, his hands running up and down over his sides, his chest, setting his skin aflame. “Love you too. Always.”

Bucky gets a hand between them, and it’s not long before Steve comes with a long moan that pushes Bucky over the edge moments afterwards. 

They lie there for a few minutes, Steve’s heavy body a welcome weight on Bucky’s chest as his head slowly stops spinning, until Steve finally rolls off him with a long exhale.

Bucky pushes himself up on an elbow and looks Steve over, his lips puffy and red, teeth marks on his chest, hickeys that will fade by morning scattered all over his skin. He knows he’s in similar shape.

“So, not that I’m complaining,” Bucky asks, “but what brought that on?”

Steve turns over and hides his face in the pillow, but this isn’t really a hardship for Bucky, as he just proceeds to give Steve’s lovely ass a squeeze.

“Come on, tell me,” Bucky says. He thinks back to the operation at the lab, the look Steve gave him as they left, just before the pilot in the helicopter latched on to Steve for the ride home.

“It was the mission, wasn’t it?” Bucky drapes himself over Steve’s back and noses into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. “Does watching me shoot people get you hot?”

There’s no answer, but Bucky knows Steve – he’s probably feeling badly about it.

“I love watching you fight, too,” Bucky says, stroking Steve’s back. “It’s elegant. No wasted motion.” He leans closer, mouth next to Steve’s ear. “Not to mention those arm muscles. Damn. I’d watch you throw that shield all night.”

Steve huffs and turns over, taking Bucky into his arms. He’s gentle now, less urgent than before, but just as sincere. “We’re kinda weird, aren’t we?”

Bucky shrugs, and nestles against Steve’s chest. “Maybe. But I like it.”

Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s hair. “Thank god, Buck, that we made it here. ‘Cause I really like it too.”


	15. Chapter 15

For the next few days, it’s like Bucky is living in a state of suspended domestic bliss. He thinks he and Steve are playing at being normal, trying it on for size, seeing how it would feel to just hang out together, as if Bucky wasn’t a traumatized former assassin, and Steve not a government sponsored superhero with a growing disdain for following orders.

Bucky pulls out the notebook Nora left him and makes sure all the household maintenance has been taken care of. He replaces a few light bulbs, tightens a leaky faucet, and changes the oil in the station wagon. He gives the plants some extra care, and spends an hour dragging Mittens’ favorite toy up and down the stairs, until Miss Kitty and Gracie come out of hiding too. Bucky can’t help watching Steve with a fond smile on his face as he trails Bucky around the house, handing him tools and scooping up unsuspecting cats when they do something particularly cute.

But when Steve returns from a meeting with Natasha with a nervous look on his face, Bucky worries it’s all about to come crashing down. He sits at the kitchen island, trying not to tap his metal fingers on the gleaming granite countertop, and waits for Steve to spill.

“I thought maybe we’d have our lighthouse date tonight,” Steve says, which isn’t what Bucky was expecting. “It’s kinda warm out today, for December, anyway. And clear, so we could actually see the sun set.”

“Sure,” Bucky replies. The look on Steve’s face hasn’t changed, though, and it’s not a nervous-and-excited-about-a-date look, it’s something decidedly more stomach-churning.

“But I think we should talk, first,” Steve finally says, and the churning in Bucky’s stomach intensifies. 

“About what?” And make it fast, pal, because this is not the fun kind of suspense.

“The mission’s over. Coulson wants the team back in New York.”

Bucky knew this was coming – the Avengers weren’t going to start a permanent base of operations on Martha’s Vineyard. 

“I want to talk about what happens next,” Steve goes on. 

“I’m guessing the Avengers go back to New York?”

Steve sighs. “Well, what else?”

Bucky feels himself tapping hard on the granite, and puts both his hands in his lap, the right one keeping the left still. “I don’t know what you mean.” Which is not completely true, he does. It’s what he’s been avoiding thinking about for weeks, now. Where’s a retired former assassin to go when his house-sitting gig is up?

“Bucky, come on.”

“I don’t know, Steve,” he says tiredly. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Steve’s face lights up, and he practically bounces on his toes. “I do, in fact. You should move in with me. My place in Brooklyn is plenty big enough. I know you’ll like it.”

“I can’t do that,” Bucky says automatically. “I promised Nora I’d stay here.” 

“Just through January, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’ll come then?” Steve’s face is so hopeful, it makes something ache inside of him.

“I don’t know, Steve,” Bucky says again. “Is it really such a good idea?”

Steve smirks, as if he’s already anticipated this. “We can test it out and see.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Bucky,” Steve says, stepping closer and taking Bucky’s hands in his. “Relax, okay? Take a deep breath.”

Bucky is about to snap at him that he’s breathing just fine, but then he realizes he really isn’t, and does as Steve says. He’s not sure why he’s freaking out over a conversation that really isn’t particularly scary. Except for him, maybe it is.

Bucky wants to go back to New York with Steve, move in with him and continue playing house for the rest of their lives. He wants to putter around their apartment together, cook grilled cheese, maybe get a cat or two of their own. He wants to go to sleep every night with Steve’s arms wrapped around him, and wake up with his face pressed into Steve’s ridiculous chest.

But what if it doesn’t work? What if Bucky can’t handle it, the constant presence of another person, the unending need to keep it together in front of Steve?

Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair and leans in for a soft kiss, then pulls back and meets Bucky’s eyes.

“Hear me out, okay?”

Bucky nods, ignoring the way his heart is pounding against his chest.

“Coulson wants to keep the safe house running a little while longer, just in case there’s any further activity on the island. He’d like you to keep an eye on things. So I asked if I could stay, too. Kind of like working remotely.”

“You can’t be Captain America remotely,” Bucky protests.

“No, but I can get to wherever I need to go from here easily enough. But after he said yes to that, I, um.” Steve stops mid-sentence and rubs his face with his hand. “I may have asked for some time off. From being Captain America.”

“Steve?” Even with the Sekovia mess, the civil war between the Avengers, all of it, Steve hadn’t given up on the symbol that meant so much to people.

“Not forever,” Steve says. “Just, you know, until the end of January. Approximately.”

Bucky can feel the smile stretching his cheeks, and there’s a matching one spreading across Steve’s face. “The end of January.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s blushing, and Bucky can’t wait to kiss him.

“You’re taking a vacation until the end of January.”

“Not a total vacation. I’ll have some administrative work to do, make sure the safe house is fully stocked with Clint’s favorite beer, critical stuff.”

“But no missions.”

“No missions.”

Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s waist and pulls him closer, spreading his knees so Steve can step in between them. “So when you said we could give it a try…?”

“I’ll stay here on the island for as long as you do. At the safe house, or here with you, whatever you want. And if we like it, which I’m guessing we sure as hell will, then you can move back to New York with me.”

Bucky presses his lips together, pretending to weigh Steve’s proposal. Because there’s suddenly no doubt in his mind what he’s going to say, despite his earlier hesitance, and the fact that he’s making this commitment scares the crap out of him. 

Steve just waits patiently, calm and considerate. The idiot knows Bucky can’t resist him. Finally Bucky breaks. “The bed’s a lot nicer here. And the safe house doesn’t have any cats.”

Steve grins. “I’ll stay here, then.” He pulls Bucky down off the stool, and wraps him in his arms. Bucky digs his face into Steve’s shoulder. “See?” Steve says, his breath warm on Bucky’s neck. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Maybe not for you,” Bucky mutters into Steve’s shirt. “This shit scares me.”

Steve laughs, light and happy, cupping the back of Bucky’s neck with his hand and holding him close. “Same here, pal. I always want to be with you, Bucky. I’m like an imprinted baby duckling. Got one look at you in my impressionable youth and haven’t wanted to let you go since.”

Bucky’s heart sings, and he squeezes Steve tight, loving how he can feel Steve laughing all over his body. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But don’t ever share that comparison with Natasha.”

“Not that I’m about to, but why not?”

“She’ll call you ‘Bucky’s ducky’ for the rest of your life.”

*****  
They drive out to the cliffs at the western edge of the island that afternoon. It is in fact unseasonably warm, well above freezing, and they’re both more resistant to cold than most people.

Still, it seems a little ridiculous to be standing up on the rocks at the top of the cliff, looking out past the lighthouse to the dark gray ocean, in the middle of winter.

“Stop complaining, Bucky,” Steve says, sitting and pulling Bucky down next to him. “You look adorable in that hat, anyway.”

It’s a navy blue knit beanie Steve had produced from somewhere, joking that now that Bucky had cut his hair, he needs the hat to keep his ears warm.

“It itches.”

“It does not.”

“How would you know?” Bucky asks, and Steve blushes. “This is your hat, isn’t it? What about your ears getting cold?”

Steve shrugs. “It looks better on you.”

The wind is whipping around them, and Bucky’s ass is numb where he’s sitting on the uncomfortably rough boulder, but Bucky lets Steve pull him in tight and relaxes against his side. After the sun sets they’ll have dinner in the little clifftop restaurant, and Steve will probably insist on getting the fish and chips, since he’s talked them up so much. Bucky will argue with him about whether they’re better than the kind you get at Coney Island, and Steve’s eyes will light up with the shared memory.

Bucky’s looking forward to it. There’s a lot he’s looking forward to. But for now, he pulls off his gloves and slips them over Steve’s chilly hands, giving him a soft look when Steve protests.

“You gave me your hat,” Bucky explains. “We’re looking out for each other now, right?”

The smile that spreads across Steve’s face is more beautiful than any sunset. 

“Right.”

Bucky may have some healing left to do, and he may not know exactly where he’s going from here. But he’s damn sure who’ll be by his side as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, folks! It's been a pleasure sharing this with you. Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos, they really mean a lot to me. If you’re so inclined, please come say hi and [re-blog ](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/157650299732/winds-of-change-ch-1515-complete) on Tumblr (I’m flowerfan2 there).
> 
> And thanks again to my wonderful beta perryavenue, without whom this would not be nearly as much fun.


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